


Serenity

by Ros192



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Cigarettes, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt Erik Lehnsherr, Hurt No Comfort, Love Letters, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Sorry Not Sorry, World War II, not really - Freeform, so much pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-05 23:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ros192/pseuds/Ros192
Summary: Fledgling writer Raven Xaiver, as a thirteen-year-old, irrevocably changes the course of several lives when she accuses her older brother's lover of a crime he did not commit.--------------Atonement AU that no one asked for.





	1. 1939

One

1939

Small, chubby, agile fingers moved with vigour, producing remarkable lines of adjectives and romance. Graphite pressed into pale, white paper, not yet finished, not yet pressed in ink. The tale was just like the songs, pretty and full with hopeless love. Or so it would seem. For at the end, the brave soldier would indeed return from gruesome battle, back to his home, back to his love.

Raven thought herself to be quite clever. She, after all was the only thirteen year old girl that knew how to properly write _camaraderie._ She was sure thatthe only future she had was a Oxford education in English. Just like her brother. She would write novels until her senses would fail her. This story in particular was a romance. A short story, inspired by Mother and Father. The latter had returned from the Great war as a hero. Perhaps it was too much like the truth, but no matter. It was a brilliant story. With a satisfied smile she write the final two words, that every good story ended with ‘The End’. She added her last name, this time in beautiful cursive letters, just like Mother had taught her. 

She placed her pen in the bright blue pencil case, then jumped out of her seat. A stack of papers tightly secured against her chest she started to sprint down the long hallway. She shouted for Charles, eager to show off her newest piece of work. When no one answered she ran into Kurt’s room. Out of breath she asked her cousin where her brother was. With an annoyed glance he replied that he had no better clue than Raven. Equally annoyed, they parted ways. Raven jumped down the stairs, step by step and out of the main door. She knew that her brother enjoyed to read outside when the weather allowed it. And the sun was ghastly hot, almost burning her pale skin as soon as she stepped out of the door. She ran across the vast garden, her goal was the benches along the small pond. She halted when she saw him. It was not the one she was searching for, but she was delighted nonetheless. 

“Erik!” The man turned, with one raised eyebrow. Erik Lehnsherr worked at the mansion, like his father before him. He maintained the grounds and was also a friend. To Mother, he was just another member of the staff, but to Raven he was a hero. Just like in the stories. In fact he’d saved her just a year ago. She’d almost fallen out of a tree and he’d caught her. With pale blue eyes and rare kind smiles, he was like a Prince in the Grimm Brother’s stories she’d read growing up.

“Miss Xavier, your Mother will not be pleased with you running around without shoes.” Guilty, she looked down at her bare feet. The green grass tickled her toes and it was one of the joys that Summer provided. She smiled bright and shrugged.

“She won’t know. Unless you tell her.” Erik laughed and shook his head.

“It will be our secret.” He said and she believed him, his playful smile told her everything she needed for reassurance.

“Do you know where my brother is?” For a moment, just for a split of a second, his smile faltered. He cleared his throat and nodded. He replied that he was by the pond, like Raven had expected. Raven smiled and told him that she had finished one of her short stories and wanted to show Charles.

“Oh dear, is it a tragedy?” He asked with genuine interest. Unlike Mother who sometimes just hummed and praised her, no matter how intriguing the story was. Raven shook her head, pale curls whipped in the quiet breeze.

“It has a happy ending.”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant.” He said and smiled again. Raven basked in his praise for a second. Then she announced that Erik was to read it after Charles had. Erik agreed, Raven turned and continued her search for her brother. 

She spotted him when she approached the pond. He was laying on one of the green painted benches, a thick book acting both as entertainment and protection against the harsh sun. She slowly walked up to him, his eyes was intently on the page, not noticing her. In that way they were quite alike. Both siblings loved to read, although not the same genre. While Raven enjoyed American classics with love as the main theme, Charles rarely picked up anything that was fiction. Raven was sure that her brother was a genius. He’d been away for three years finishing his masters degree in biology and returned only a few weeks ago. If the war allowed it, he was to return to start his doctorate. He was smart like father, but kinder. He didn’t posses the passiveness that Mother had.

“Char!” He almost dropped the book over his face in surprise. With a smile he looked up at her. She peered over the bench, with the same bright smile. Char was a nickname that positively was meant for a girl, had Mother stated. Charles had not minded the nickname. Another reason why she loved him so dearly. 

“Raven. Is the book finished already?” He asked and glanced at the manuscript in her hands. 

“It’s a short story, and it’s only the first draft.” She said.

“Of course.” He gingerly accepted the stack of papers and closed his own book. Charles rarely picked up anything that was fiction, the exception was Raven’s work. Something she had immense pride in. She patiently sat in silence next to him as he read. She looked out over the pond and swung her legs over the grass without any particular rhythm. She glanced at her brother every other thirty seconds. Charles wasn't a slow reader, but when he read her work he always made sure to be as attentive as possible. She looked at him expectantly when he carefully laid down the manuscript in her lap.

“It’s marvellous, love. Fantastic.” He said brightly. Raven could taste the fruits of hard labour and encouraged him to review her work in more detail. He praised her and kissed her cheek, smiling even brighter.

“Father will love this. Show Mother, I’m sure that she’ll love this one.” Raven tried to protest, both of them knew that Mother didn’t care much for their hobbies or activities outside her beloved socialite lifestyle. Charles gave her a knowing look and said;

“After all, it’s based on her. Is it not?” If she had to give in to Mother’s ego to hear her love, so be it. Raven nodded eagerly and exclaimed that she would find her immediately. Char said that she would most likely find Mother in the drawing room. Raven jumped out of her seat, manuscript tightly clutched and thanked her brother before leaving. In her excitement, she’d forgotten to show Erik the story.

Charles Xavier sighed in content as he watched his sister run back to the Westchester mansion. In her quest to find Mother, he felt slightly guilty to prompt her to find her. Mother had been up and arms for weeks since it was clear that Father was coming back. He started to go back to the house, in a more reasonable pace than Raven. The cool shade of trees was a relief. He strolled along the intricate silhouettes of the branches, a thick volume resting beneath his arm. He stopped in his track he was only a few yards away from the back door. 

Erik Lehnsherr was on his knees. He was caring for the roses Mother had insisted on being planted. Despite the merciless sun, Erik worked with his usual, relentless determination. His rough linen shirt was plastered to his back, reminding Charles of his own sweaty brow. Erik looked as if he’d taken a dip in the pond. An idea that wasn’t that ludicrous in the heat. Charles approached slowly, hoping to be able to surprise him, like Raven had. But Erik senses was heightened like a dogs and turned as soon as he heard Charles’ leather shoes crushing the grass beneath. Charles tried to act innocent as Erik looked up at him. 

“Charles.” He sounded breathless. It must have been because of the hard labour. Charles looked at the delicate roses.

“Erik.” He greeted back. Erik slowly stood up, brushing off strands of grass and dirt. Charles didn’t mind it.

“How was the short story?” Charles smiled. Of course Erik already knew of Raven’s latest work.

“Could make do without so many adjectives.” Charles said playfully. Erik laughed and nodded, knowing exactly what Charles’d meant. Erik had, just like Charles, read all of Raven’s plays and stories. After a pause that was longer than necessary, Charles asked;

“Would you mind rolling me a cigarette?” Erik wordlessly reached into his pocket and took out the pouch of tobacco and paper. He effortlessly rolled a perfect cylinder. Charles rarely smoked, in fact he tried to abstain from it as much as possible. But it gave him an excuse to talk to Erik, so he accepted the cigarette. While put it in his mouth as he leaned into Erik’s personal space, allowing Erik to light it. Charles took an appropriately long drag and showed his gratitude with a small smile.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Charles almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Charles had been away for so long that the only conversation topic option was the bloody weather.

“It’s far too hot for me.” He mustered. There was an unbearable long pause as Erik had agreed with a nod and silence fell over them again. Charles opted to turn his focus on Erik’s cigarette. He took a deep drag, proud to not cough, and watched as smoke plummeted out of his mouth. He glanced and realised that Erik was starring. Charles cleared his throat and Erik looked away, because they were no longer children. No longer could they indulge in childish dreams.

“Father is coming back from London today. Raven’s story is dedicated to him.”  Charles said. The air around them had turned stale from smoke and awkwardness. Erik nodded, like he’d remembered something. He offered no easing words.

“He says that Europe is on the brink of war… I wonder if the world will ever stop seeking out bloodshed.” Charles said, a frown building between his brows. He didn’t need to read the news paper to know that the conflict in Europe was escalating far too quickly. Father had written in his letters his own concern with the request for more nuclear research the Xavier company preformed. Both Charles and Father knew that they could only resist the American military for so long.

“Ever the pacifist.” Erik muttered. Charles took in a deep breath, ignoring his eyes tearing up with smoke. A conflict that Charles could avoid no longer was with Erik. Ever since he got back from England, their relationship had turned stale. For good reason too, but Charles saw no reason why Erik was seeking out argument on purpose. For Erik knew how Charles hated war. His Father had fought in the trenches in the Great War and just hearing stories of it growing up, was enough for Charles to loathe war.

“Erik…” He turned a concerned eye to his friend. Erik was looking at him, steel in his eyes. Erik had always been inpatient, even as a child. Anger was simmering in his eyes, tension flowed thorough his entire body. Charles knew that he was to blame for much of it.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Charles mumbled. Erik clenched his jaw tight. Charles closed his eyes briefly, breathing out slowly. Erik, ever so stubborn. 

“It was your choice to end it Charles.” He stepped back at Erik’s harsh voice. Memories, unbidden, came rushing back up. Charles huffed and pressed them down.

“You know why.” Charles said and tried to keep his anger out of his voice. Erik was radiating enough of it for the both of them. Erik shook his head. Charles bristled when Erik ripped his shirt off over his head. Charles diverted his eyes to the green grass. The cigarette sub was burning his fingers.

“I have to get back to work.” Erik said in a final voice, bending down to tend to Mother’s roses. Charles clicked his jaw, the conversation had taken an ugly turn, and Charles didn’t know where to go from there. He sighed loudly and crushed the stub into the green grass, leaving Erik with the last word. 

“Oxford has changed you!” Erik yelled as Charles was about to leave. Charles stopped in his track, turning around to face Erik again. Erik was still kneeling on the ground, but his hard gaze dominated the space.

“I reckon it has.” Charles said drily. The English accent that he’d acquired during his university years had stuck, but Charles knew that it wasn't that Erik meant. Both were silent for a few seconds, then Erik stood up, taking two steps towards Charles. Fast like a whip, Erik grabbed Charles’ arm. Charles stood quiet, letting Erik throw his tantrum. Even though Erik was older by two years, he was still a child in some aspects.

“Tell me, do you prefer cunt now or-“ Charles, his patience reaching its limit, he wrenched his arm out of Erik’s hard grip, pushing away. Erik standing far too close.

“Get off me! How dare you, I’m your friend. Why do you keeping doing this?” Charles spat, asking the question that had been plaguing him for the last five weeks. Erik let out a bitter laugh. Charles shook his head in disbelief. Erik wasn’t stupid, in fact he was smarter than most. But he let his emotion take the better of him.

“I should ask you the same.” The hint of truculence in his voice served to agitate Charles even more. Charles gaped for a second, before whipping around, leaving Erik with the last word once again. His eyes focused to the mansion he left, hating how Erik was right.

Raven stood in her bedroom window, a frown on her face. She watched as her brother left Erik in the gardens. Erik and Charles had always been friends. Growing up, she spent almost as much time with Erik as she did Charles. True, ever since Charles came back, they hadn’t spent as much time together. But seeing how Erik abused her brother, grabbing him and yelling at him, made her stomach drop. With a final look she turned to her desk.

At thirteen, she was the youngest of the family, but one of the smartest. Or she considered herself. Her cousin was a brute. Kurt’s father almost worse. She had no idea how Cain Marko and Father could be related. Her room was meticulously tidy, with model animals arranged with military precision, all facing in the same direction, two by two, as if queuing for the Ark. 

She walked to her desk, closing  a battered copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. It had to be prefect when Father came back. She flicked off nonexistent dust from the cover page that read ‘The Hero Of The Amiens’, she knew that Father would love it. After all, Mother had smiled wryly when she’d read through it. Mother hadn’t given her much response, but Raven liked to think she enjoyed it. 

“Miss, your Father has just arrived.” She turned to look at Edith, one of the housemaids, and Erik’s mother. She stood in her doorframe a small smile on her face. Raven lit up, letting out a squeal. She ran past a chuckling Edith, holding her manuscript. She made her way down the halls and stairs, this time wearing shoes. As she was jumping down the final sets of stairs, leading to the main entrance, the sound of her black shoes announced her presence. Both men, who were talking to Mother, turned.

“Father!” Brian Xavier looked at her with mirthful eyes, his smile mirroring Raven’s. Forgetful of her precious manuscript, she threw herself into Father’s arms. He chuckled and lifted her up in the air, just as he did when she was a small child. He spun her twice and hugged her once more, before her feet hit the ground.

“How I missed you, Raven.” Father had been gone for a shorter amount than Charles, nine months, but oh how she’d missed him. Raven made a sound of protest when Father ruffled her hair. Raven turned an eye to the second man. He looked older than father, may perhaps forty-five or something alike it. Father noticed her curious look and gestured to the man.

“This is a colleague and friend.” The man smiled, it was certainly smaller and more restrained than Father, but Raven returned it nonetheless.

“Sebastian Shaw, pleased to meet you.” Raven carefully shook his hand and then turned to Father once more.

“Father, I have a gift for you.” He raised an eyebrow. A gesture that Charles had inherited, both used them equally a lot. Raven nodded, gripping her manuscript tightly.

“Is that so? I have one for you.” Father reached into his suit jacket pocket, producing a small, blue box. He put it into Raven’s hands with a secretive smile. Raven gasped when she’d pulled off the lid. It was a small, delicate golden chain, with a small heart pendant, incrusted with stones. Raven held it carefully in one hand.

“Is it real diamonds Father?” She asked, still starring at it. Father chuckled and she saw how he nodded.

“Sure is, only the best for my favourite daughter.” Raven rolled her eyes and stated that she was his only daughter. She let Father put it on, putting her hair to the side of her shoulder. When the necklace was in place, the heart locket fell just beneath her collarbone. Raven held up the manuscript to her Father.

“My gift to you Father.” He let out an impressed sound and smiled.

“Another epic work from the prize winning author, Raven Xavier?” She smiled at his praise. Father put it close to his chest and promised that he would read it after dinner, first thing. Raven insisted that he would return it, along with his thoughts and criticism. Father promised, then he requested her to fetch her brother. Charles hadn’t come running down the stairs like her, which Raven found odd. Father and Charles were very close, surely Charles had missed him too?

Raven nodded and ran up the stairs once more. Charles’ room was two doors away from hers. She entered without knocking, rolling at the state of her brothers room. It was heroically untidy. Bed unmade, the floor littered with papers, clothes and open books. The single ashtray held a few stubs in it. Raven grimaced at the foul smell of smoke. Charles never smoked inside, unless working on his thesis or anything that induced stress. Raven huffed, Charles had already graduated. The desk was a disaster, the chair covered in clothes. Instead of sitting there, Charles was opting to sit on the window still, with an open window, facing the gardens. He was reading the same thick book as he had by the pond. Raven walked into the active war zone, avoiding stepping on anything that wasn’t polished hardwood floor. Once again, Charles was obvious to her presence, but instead of trying to scare him, Raven just cleared her throat. Charles looked up, his matted chair falling over his eyes. He gave her a small smile.

“I’ll take it that Father has arrived?” Raven nodded mutely, not even mentioning father’s gift to her. She was looking out the window. Erik was striding over the lawn, down to the lodge, where Edith and he lived. Charles followed her gaze, looking out the window too. Raven raised an eyebrow at his frustrated sigh.

“Why don’t you talk to Erik anymore?” She asked. She didn’t mention what she’d witnessed in the garden earlier that day. Charles clenched his jaw in anger. Raven squinted her eyes. 

“We just don’t get along as well as we did as when we were children.” He said in a bitter tone. Raven looked concerned, Charles was never cross with anyone, making sure that everybody he knew was his friends. As far as Raven could remember, Charles had never been truly angry with anyone. Raven looked at the gardens again, Erik wasn’t there anymore. Raven tried to smile, diverting Charles from Erik, a subject that was clearly painful for him.

“Come, Father wants you downstairs, and he has a friend with him.”

Instead of embracing Charles, like he’d Raven, Father shakes his hand firmly. Still, there was a smile on both of their faces. Father’s friend was no where to be seen, Raven didn’t mind. Father lead them into the drawing room, stating that he was gasping for a drink. Charles prepared gin and tonics for the two of them, and an orange juice with plenty of ice for Raven. As soon as Father and Charles had sat down, he was asking about England, about what the Prime Minister was going to do concerning Germany. Talks of politics bored Raven to no end and she sighed into her glass when Father entertained Charles with stories. Charles loved England, frequently talking about his University days. Raven suspected that he missed England, and longed to go back. After a few minutes, Sebastian Shaw let his presence be known, by declaring that he too, wanted a gin and tonic.Father introduced Charles to Sebastian as his ‘Acclaimed son’, Charles briefly mentioned that he’d studied in Oxford, but only after the baiting form Sebastian. Her brother was never the one to brag. Sebastian inquired why Father’s nephew was staying at the mansion, Father exalting that it was a delicate situation, glancing at Raven, as if he didn’t want her to know the truth. But Raven wasn't stupid, she knew that it was because Kurt’s father, Cain had run off with a woman to France. Leaving his previous wife in a state of depression in New York. Cain had just left his son with a driver, who’d driven their cousin to the estate two months ago. With no word from either the father or mother. Mother had declared that Kurt was staying indefinitely with them. Raven pursed her lips. Kurt was by no means a mean person, but he was an idiot. Swearing off reading books, hated school and said that writing for pleasure was stupid. Nonetheless Kurt could be funny sometimes, when Charles had been gone Kurt had made sufficient company. 

“How tragic.” Sebastian commented, when Father had provided a watered down explanation. Charles handed Sebastian a identical crystal glass, who accepted it with a small smile. Sebastian sat down between Raven and Father, sipping his drink, he turned to Charles.

“We met the most interesting young man on the way in.” He mentioned offhand. Charles, rolled his eyes, completely out of character. 

“Erik…” Charles guessed. Raven held her eyes on Charles, who she’d never seen so displeased before. Sebastian snapped his fingers at Charles, like he’d just now remembered Erik’s name.

“Exactly, indeed a interesting fellow.” Charles made no protest, but he didn’t agree either. Raven frowned. Charles often jumped on the chance to praise Erik’s smarts. Erik was undeniably smart, he knew more languages that Charles, which meant a lot. And he could keep up with Charles’ complex conversations about biology.

“I invited him for dinner tonight.” Father said, tilting his head a little. Charles snapped his head to Father.

“Father! You did not!” Raven raised her eyebrows. She could count on one hand the times Charles had raised his voice against his family. Father waved Charles off, turning to Sebastian. He seemed unaware of Charles’ discontent.

“Erik Lehnsherr is the head maid’s son. Incredibly smart, his father was just a factory worker for Christ’s sake. I made sure that he could expand his abilities, sent him to the Dalton School along with Charles when he was sixteen. Of course, Erik wasn’t as successful as Charles. But they attended together for four years, and now Charles cannot even stand hearing his name!” Father said like it was some kind of joke. Raven was silent, considering if she would tell of what she’d seen. Raven bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to ruin the cheerful homecoming. Charles bristled and sighed.

“Anyone got a cigarette?” Sebastian reached into his pocket and offered one from a golden case, Charles lighting it with a lighter of his own. He took a deep drag and leaned back. Father said nothing of Charles’ newly acquired habit. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of how much Charles loathed how the smell would cling to everything from furniture to the drapes. But Raven said nothing either, she knew that Charles had changed a lot from his time in England. His accent for one. She enjoyed listing to him talk, even about the most boring subjects, he sounded like British noble, she’d read about.

“A charity case then?” Sebastian said. Charles didn’t comment on the insult against Erik, he just polished off his drink. Father however took offence.

“He’s a member of this household, he should be educated like the rest of us.” Sebastian made clear that his comment was nothing against Father’s intention or opinion. Father adjust waved him off. Charles announced that he was going for a walk, inviting anyone who wanted to join him. Sebastian and Father declined politely. Raven did too, noticing when Charles wanted to spend time alone. 

Rather than hearing Father and his friend drawl on about business, she declared that she would go to Kurt’s room, to try to get him say hello to the new guest and Father. Father had given her smile and dismissed her easily. Her cousin’s room was on the third floor and considerably smaller than hers and Charles’. After knocking twice, she opened the door. Kurt was two years older than Raven and therefore rarely considered her an equal. He must have been in a good mood, he didn’t frown at her.

“My Father is back from travel.” She stated. With a neutral expression he nodded and put down a bar of chocolate. Raven grimaced at it, having no idea where he had gotten it. Mother despised sweets and had banned the kitchenmaids from providing it. She made no comment at it however.

“So I’ve heard.” Kurt said. Raven huffed and sat down on a chair next to the window. Kurt eyed her gesture carefully. After a few seconds he looked up at her, asking;

“What do you know of his friend?” Raven frowned, wondering how Kurt knew that Father had brought along a friend.

“Sebastian Shaw?” Kurt nodded. Raven shrugged, trying to remember what Father had said about him.

“He works at Father’s research facility in New York. Invited him for dinner tonight.” She said all that she knew about him. Kurt, displeased with her lack of information rolled his eyes.

“Do you know how long he’s staying?” Raven frowned once more, wondering why Kurt was so curious all of the sudden. She inquired her thought to Kurt, who rolled his eyes.

“Does it matter?” Suppose it didn’t. She replied that she did not know how long their guest was staying at the estate. Kurt sighed loudly in displeasure. 

“Enjoying the chocolate?” Both of them whipped around, spotting Sebastian Shaw standing in the doorframe. Raven glanced at the half eaten bar of chocolate. Then back at Sebastian. She was quiet as Kurt thanked him for the gift. Raven frowned at this, never heard about men giving other men chocolate before, even in the most obscure works of fiction. Without looking at Raven, Sebastian said that her Mother was requesting her presence in the dining room. With uncertain steps, she left Kurt’s room. Sebastian entered it as soon as Raven stepped out.

In the early evening, high-altitude clouds in the western sky formed a thin yellow wash which became richer over the hour, and then thickened until a filtered orange glow hung above the giant crests of parkland trees; the leaves became nutty brown, the branches glimpsed among the foliage oily black, and the desiccated grasses took on the colours of the sky. Though the sun was weakening as it dropped, the temperature seemed to rise because the breeze that had brought faint relief all day had faded, and now the air was still and heavy.

The scene, or a tiny portion of it, was visible to Erik Lehnsherr through a sealed skylight window if he cared to stand up from his desk. All day long his small bedroom, his bathroom and the cubicle wedged between them he called his study, had baked under the southern slope of the bungalow’s roof.

Erik sat at his desk, pensive. The tiny table full of books, serval in other languages. The majority in his mother tongue, German. The cigarette was burning in an ashtray, balanced on stacks of books. Erik bounced his leg up and down, starring at the paper. His scrawl written in haste, it was a pathetic letter. He re-read what he’d written with a groan.

_Charles,_

_I want to apologise for my unforgivably crass and rude behaviour earlier. It was inconsiderable and I realise that…_

Erik let out a scream into his fist and crumbled it up into a tight ball. Without looking back, he threw it over his shoulder, letting the paper join the rest of them. Letting out a long sigh, Erik stood up, walking over to the nightstand, his father’s old gramophone playing the first act of La Boheme.

Erik waited, standing there for a moment listening to the climax of the duet, he picked up the arm and moved the needle back to replay the high note. He paced around in his small room. With determination he sat back down at his desk. He picked up a blank piece of paper, setting it in front of him. Taking the last drag of the cigarette he pressed it down into the cup, acting as an ashtray. The scene at in the garden played over and over in his head. For every time he remembered it, his stomach twisted. He was angry, incredibly so. 

Not at Charles as he must have perceived it as. He understood why Charles had distanced himself from Erik. He didn't want there to be a reasonable explanation. But both had realised, even before Charles left for Oxford, that their attraction to each other was a daydream that never could be for filled. They had been friends as long as Erik could remember. Charles had grown up alone, Erik being his only friend. Their friendship had not faltered when Raven was born. In some ways it had only gotten stronger. They had never done anything that could be used as evidence of homosexuality. Only shared glances and chaste, small shows of affection. But to Erik it had meant everything. At Dalton, they’d done everything together, walked to class, eating in the dinner halls. Though Charles was two years younger, he was so advanced that he was able to stop two years. Then it had been acceptable, too young to be considered something of romantic intentions. When Charles was older and Erik older, it no longer was. Charles was right, Erik had no reason to be angry. Both knew that the behaviour they had at Dalton, had to come to an end. Still, the unfairness and the injustice that was against the stigma of Erik’s family history and against homosexuals, made his blood boil. Charles had never denied his attraction and Erik had never felt any shame in his. In letters they would share their daydreams with each other. With every word, Erik's hope had grown. So much so that he even thought their relationship taking a romantic turn possible. 

After they had graduated Dalton, things had not changed much. The side hugs and wanting looks, were much more sparse, but it had not ended. It had just required more discretion. Things had however changed when Charles had returned from Oxford. During his three years stay in England, they had shared multiple letters, as often as three times a week Erik would receive a letter. When Charles had come back to the estate, he had not embraced Erik as he’d expected. Only offering a handshake. Them, Erik knew that Charles had come to his senses and decided that their daydream, no matter how secretive, had to end.

Erik starred at the blank paper, fountain pen in hand. Erik felt an oncoming headache and rolled another cigarette, thinking of how Charles’ mouth had wrapped around the thing that Erik had made. Lighting it with a match, he picked up the pen again, still capped, he tapped it against the table. Considering how baldy he’d fucked up with Charles, Erik knew that his apology required more than just dry words of begging for forgiveness. With a sense of courage he had no idea where he found, he unscrewed the pen and started to write. Laughing to himself at his even ruder words he’d said to Charles earlier.

_I daydream often about kissing you. In my mind I would take your cock in my mouth and make love to you. You would love me and I would fuck you._

Erik sat back in his chair, starring at the page in surprise. Laughing again he shook his head. Erik took a deep drag, considering his words. They were by no means untrue, perhaps even too true. Clenching his jaw, he decided that Charles had to know. he had to know how much he cared. Taking the pen again, he started to write under the vulgar introducing paragraph.

_Dear Char, you would not be wrong to think me mad the way I speak and think._

_The truth is that I will no longer lie to myself, nor you. I feel nervous, lightheaded even in your presence. I cannot blame anything expect myself. Will you consider to forgive me, for all I’ve said?_

_Erik_

He clicked his jaw and looked out the window. The sun was about to set. With a final look at the letter he felt dizzy when he carefully folded it and placed it on his bed. He looked to the clothes spread out over the bed with a final sigh. Erik walked out of his room, into the kitchen, smiling at his mother.

He walked in, dressed in vest, carrying a shoe brush and a pair of black brogues. He sat down next to his mother, spreading out an old issue of the Times on the table. He quickly spread out the shoe cream and started to polish his shoes. Erik explained to his mother that he was off to dinner, on the invitation from Brian Xavier.

Edith commented that she enjoyed Brian Xavier far more than Sharon Xavier. Erik didn’t reply, agreeing out loud felt like an insult against Charles. Edith made sure that his hair was combed out and his bowtie straight before letting him out the door. Giving his mother kiss on the cheek, and she stating that he was just as handsome as his father, Erik closed the door behind him. He starred at the envelope, containing Charles’ letter with a small smile. He put a cigarette between his lips, with the letter secured in his jacket pocket, he left the lodge. With is eyes toward the estate, he felt like a man with a glorious future.

He walked down the drive leading to the Westchester mansion. He frowned when he spotted a figure by the pond. First he thought it might be Charles, his heart up his throat, he pondered on running back to the lodge. But as he approached he realised that the figure was far too tiny to be Charles. Charles, was short, Erik was three inches taller than him, much to Charles’ annoyance. But Charles wasn’t so small that he could be mistaken as a child. Erik frowned again and squinted his eyes, the only light was coming from the estate.

“Raven?” He shouted. The figure was definitely a child, she let out a high, surprised scream and turned around. Erik smiled when he saw that it was only Raven. She was obviously startled, but tried to not seem like it. She straighten out her hair and cleared her throat. Erik tried to keep his laugh away, feeling that it would be cruel.

“Are you okay?” Raven nodded, Erik frowned once more. Raven was usually a very talkative young woman. Perhaps she was still nervous to be with her Father again. Raven eyed him as Erik approached her. Erik glanced at the estate, knowing that Charles could simply look out his window to see him. Erik took a deep breath, trying to crush his nerves. He longed for a cigarette. Erik gave Raven a small smile, carefully reaching into his pocket, showing her the envelope. Raven looked at with a crease between her brows.

“Could you do me a favour and give this to your brother? I feel like an idiot giving it myself.” Raven considered him for a few moments. Glancing between him and the letter. Finally she nodded and agreed. Erik watched her as she was running ahead, to the backdoors of the mansion. Erik breathed out harshly, feeling relieved that Charles could finally know how he felt. He reached into his pant pocket, starting to roll a cigarette. He then looked up with a frown, watching Raven, who’d almost reached the estate by now. He wondered for a second why she was running, dinner was starting in thirty minutes. Raven, no matter how smart or witty, was still a child. Children loved secrets and didn't havemuch of a grasp on either keeping secrets or loyalty. Feeling as if someone had punched him in the stomach he dropped the paper and tobacco on the ground, realising his stupid, stupid, mistake

“Raven!” No child returned, and when Erik faintly heard a door slam closed, it felt like a death sentence.

Raven ran into the mansion, entering a hallway. Before checking that she was alone, she ripped the envelope open. The scene of Erik hurting her brother replaying in her head, making her eyes tear up. How dare Erik come into her home and to have dinner, or even request a favour from her? A prince, Erik was no longer. But the villain, a cruel, mean man like in her story. Raven read the letter with blurry eyes, the betrayal burning her. Her heart hammered in her chest, feeling like it would escape out of her chest. 

Raven almost ripped it to pieces when she read it. Erik’s scrawl producing the cruelest of words. How he wanted to abuse and take sexual advantage of her own brother. Raven felt as if the entire world had shifted. Her childhood hero transforming to a foul man. She starred at the words, shaking her head. Erik was no Prince that saved her from falling. He was a savage man, who wanted to bed men. How could she have misjudged him so? Raven figured that she had blind sighted by heroics and kind smiles. Not taking account that most men were foul creatures. Betrayed by her own admiration. She took a deep breath, disposing of the envelope in a nearby vase. She made her way to the drawing room, the letter tightly clutched in her hand. 

She was quiet when she entered. She watched Father and her brother was treating themselves to another gin and tonic, looking over a newspaper spread out over the dark, mahogany table. When Father glanced up his face lit up, smiling brightly. She hugged Father harder than she usually did, her hurt and the betrayal hitting her all over again. She quickly turned to her brother, his smile turning into confusion when Raven silently handed him the letter. 

“I just read your short story, an absolute work of wonder, sweetheart.” The compliment and praise fell short, Raven trying to keep her smile up. Father took no notice and started to shower Raven in even more praise. She glanced at Charles, red blotches covering his face. He was reading it with a hand over his mouth. Raven knew that Charles was just as agitated as her. But she didn’t want to cause a scene when Father was there, it would positively ruin his day, and after all, it was his first day back home.

“I’ll tell you what, I will write to the _Times_ , they just have to publish it in their next edition. Simply must.” Father said. Raven nodded mutely, gulping down air as she saw Charles looking at her.

“Raven?” She wanted to tell him that now was not the time. She looked at Father again, trying to hang on to every word. She felt Charles’ eyes on her.

“Have your Mother read this? I promise you that she’ll adore it.” Raven explained that Mother had already loved it and indeed she had proclaimed her enjoyment. 

“Have you read this?” Raven ignored Charles, ignoring his accusatory tone. She had every right, Erik was a horrible person and Charles had to know, no matter if Raven had found out first.

“You will surely will the noble prize someday, dear.” Raven nodded, pretending not to have heard Charles whisper her name. Charles stood up, catching Father’s attention, Raven hoped that Charles wouldn’t ruin Father’s day with the news of Erik. Raven knew that Father liked Erik, Raven was about to tell Charles that now wasn't the time to talk about it. She was interrupted by the doors opening once more. Sebastian Shaw and Mother entering, Sebastian was carrying a silver tray with refreshments, Mother mentioning something about fetching some rubbing alcohol. Raven frowned a little when Mother touched Sebastian’s cheek. Sebastian winced a little, Raven glanced at Charles, who was starring at her.

“I propose another cocktail, in waiting for the final guest!” He announced. At the reminder of Erik, Raven tried to sneak out of the door, but Charles grabbed her arm, leaning in and using a voice she’d never heard before. It was agitated and rushed.

“Letters come in envelopes, Raven.” He hissed quietly. Raven’s eyes widen a fraction, she managed to wriggle free and hurried out of the room. Charles was the only one who noticed, the others distracted by their drinks. 

Raven found herself in her room, pacing. She knew that she had to get dressed for dinner, Mother would not approve of dirty shoes and a plain dress. She walked up to her closet and started to pull out a bright blue dress that was kind against the late Summer heat. She gasped in surprise when she heard the door opening, for a second thinking it was Erik, about to do horrendous things to her. She sighed when she saw that it was only Kurt. He was dressed in appropriate attire. He closed the door, a tragic expression on his face.

“You have to rid the grounds of the wild dogs.” He muttered. Raven raised her eyebrows. Kurt preached on the edge of her desk chair, he pulled up his sleeve. Raven gasped when she saw the purple bruises and red scratches.

“It just attacked me, out of no where!” He exclaimed. Raven bit her lip. Trying to think of something that would distract her cousin from something so terrible. Kurt eyed her with a raised eyebrow, taking her silence as indifference. Just as he was about to stand up, she asked;

“I have the most horrible news.” Raven couldn’t help the wave of words that escaped her. From a mixture of motives – a practical need to change the subject, the desire to share a secret and show the older boy that she too had worldly experiences, but above all because she wanted Kurt to understand that she wasn’t just some girl. She was practically a woman who knew things. Secret, adult things. Raven told him about meeting Erik in the garden, and the letter, and how she had opened it, and what was in it. Rather than say the word out loud, which was unthinkable, she spelled it out for him, backwards. The effect on Kurt was gratifying. His eyes were wide in shock. Raven smugly thought that there would be no way that Kurt her to be an insolent child. Some seconds pass and Kurt was speechless.She was hamming it up a bit, but that was fine, every author did, and so was his hoarse whisper.

“With _men_?”Raven nodded and faced away, as though grappling with tragedy. It was a tragedy, she had trusted Erik to be a friend. Father had given him everything. Education, work, for both him and his mother, a place to live, food on the table. The repayment was a brutal, malicious joke.

“Disgusting. That man is a maniac.” A maniac. The word had refinement, and the weight of medical diagnosis. All these years she had known him and that was what he had been. When she was little he used to carry her on his back and pretend to be a beast. She had been alone with him many times at the swimming hole where he taught her one summer how to tread water and do the breast stroke. Now his condition was named she felt a certain consolation, though the mystery of the fountain episode deepened. She had already decided not to tell that story, suspecting that the explanation was simple and that it would be better not to expose her ignorance.

“How did Charles react?” Raven shrugged, shining under Kurt’s never ending curiosity. For once, she had the upper hand over him. Like she held the next chapter of an exciting book.

“I do not know, but Erik is supposed to join us for dinner tonight.” His name left a bitter taste in her mouth. Kurt stood up from the chair with wide eyes.

“You have to call the police.” He stated with urgency. Raven whipped around. Thinking of it.

“Really?” She’’d planned to tell Father, as soon as the next day. Father would most certainly terminate Erik’s employment. But alerting the police without Father knowing, might anger him. 

“He wrote that he wanted to _fuck_ him.” Raven winced at Kurt’s harsh, careless use of the word.

“He wants to do that to your brother! Erik needs to be taken care of. Just show them the letter, it will be enough.” Kurt advised. Raven hesitantly looked up from the floor, a small crease between her brows.Both jumped at the sound of the doorbell from below. They shared a look, both in full knowledge of who it was.

“Don’t tell anyone until I’ve called them, promise?” Kurt nodded. He left, closing the door behind him. Raven sighed and bit the inside of her cheek. Then she straightened her back, she could do this. She looked at the dress with determination in her eyes.

Reluctantly, she left her room and made her way along the gloomy panelled corridor, finally dressed in appropriate evening attire. When she reached the stairs where she paused to listen. The voices came from the library – she heard Mother’s and Mr Shaw's, and then, separately, Father and Mother to each other. No Charles then, no maniac. Raven felt her heart rate rise as she began her unwilling descent. Her life had ceased to be simple. She had wanted everything to be different, and here it was; and not only was it bad, it was about to get worse. She stopped again on the first landing to consolidate a scheme; she could not afford to be drawn into a conspiracy, nor did she wish to prompt a disastrous outburst. And Charles, whom she ought to protect, she dared not go near. Robbie, obviously, she should avoid for safety’s sake. Her mother with her fussing would not be helpful. It would be impossible to think straight in her presence, her Mother often making real problems trivial. She frowned at the doors to the library. They were never closed. Charles walked in and out of the room so often it would be unnecessary to do so. She tried to keep her gasp down as she now was certain it was her brother and the maniac in the room. 

Raven blinked, her curiosity of seeing something vile getting the better of her. She carefully and slowly opened the doors, only a little. Through a crack, she looked into the library. The library was cavernous and dark, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The only light comes from a desk lamp that pointed directly into her eyes. Silence. The voices had stopped. Raven bit her lip, hoping that she would make no sound. She almost tumbled back when she heard her brother speak up.

“Calm your mind.” He said, persistent and with a hit of annoyance. Another voice spoke up, Raven couldn’t make out the words, but she saw the black fabric, covering a familiar back. Raven took in a sharp breath. _The Maniac!_

She watched in horror when Erik approached her brother, who was facing a bookshelf and spun him around. With the same force as he’d used against Charles in the garden. Erik pinned her brother’s wrists against the bookshelf. Charles gasped loudly. Raven couldn’t believe it! How Erik dared to attack Charles in his own home. She watched in horror as Charles grabbed Erik’s hair, trying to pull him away. Raven tried to keep her cry of surprise in, but to no avail, both Erik and Charles’ eyes found hers in seconds. Erik stepped back quickly, his hands on his disheveled clothes. Raven felt disgusted as she saw him button his pants up. Charles was panting, adjusting his tie, which looked like it had been ripped with force. Erik, who stood the closest, took a step towards her. 

“Raven!” She gasped and turned, running down the stairs, not wanting to get caught by the maniac herself. 

Raven kept her eyes glued to her third glass of ice water. Their gazes burned more than the midday sun had. Raven had spoke nothing of what she’d seen, and she suspected that Erik wanted to confront her about it. But Raven had not lost her wits and made sure to never be alone with time. Dinner for Raven had been a stale affair. Sharon disapproved of Erik and didn’t hide it. Raven wanted to agree with her, but was afraid that Erik would jump over the table and strangle her. Sebastian Shaw and talked little to Raven, opting to talk business with Father. She felt like a small child even more when Sebastian asked Kurt’s opinion. Sebastian didn't even glance at Raven, it was unfair. Kurt was only two years older and yet she was treated like a toddler next to him. The heat from outside was seeping into the room, making it a humid and claustrophobic. Raven dutifully ate the appetisers and main course. All of them, thankfully had been served cold. She pocked her spoon into the ice cream, that was melting fast. 

She often found Erik starring at her, she wanted to sink into the ground. She knew that she had to avoid being left alone with him at all costs. Conversation moved quickly, no one expect the maniac taking notice to her silence. 

“What do you think about Macbeth, Raven?” She almost dropped her spoon at the inquiry. She hadn’t noticed the subject being changed to literature. Instead of speaking of her love for Shakespeare, Raven frowned.

“You know nothing of it.” She spat. Erik bristled at her hard tone and Charles quietly hissed her name, trying to chastise her. Raven turned a critical eye to her brother, why was he siding with him? Father repeated Charles’ word and looked at her with high eyebrows.

“There is no need to be rude, Raven.” She looked down at her melted ice-cream and then a sour look at Erik. Silently accusing him for making Father annoyed. After the last course was finished, Raven stated that she was going to retire to her room, her mind on Father’s office, where the only phone was. She was dismissed easily. She made her way up the stairs and was grateful that Father’s office was only a few doors away from hers. She hurried as soon as she’d left the dining room, knowing that Erik would probably follow her. Her heart up her throat, hands sweating, she rushed down the corridor.The mansion was vast and it felt like a lifetime before she saw Father’s door to his office. Raven gasped when she heard someone in the stairs. Loud and intimidating like a predator, it was closing in on her. Her own bedroom was behind her and she glanced back and saw a shadow coming up the stairs. She panicked, the maniac. She thought. She looked back at Father’s office door, torn. Asking herself if she had time to make the call. The steps got louder and decided that there simply wasn't enough time. Even if she managed to get to the phone, Erik was large and fast. He could easily overpower her, he’d with ease overpowered Charles. 

She ran down the hall, going around the floor, finding the second staircase leading to the drawing room. She ran, terrified that Erik might catch up to her. She found herself in the drawing room, in front of the backdoors that lead to the garden. Raven looked back, she didn’t hear any steps, but she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. She opened the door and moved into the darkness. Feeling relived of being outside, despite being humid and still warm, she sighed deeply. She managed to escape the beast. Raven felt a little bit like a heroine herself. 

She didn’t know for how long she was outside, the mansion grounds were already succumbed in darkness, she couldn’t keep track of time. She walked around the garden, pondering on how she would write it. Feeling horrible about using Charles terrible experience as inspiration, she decided that she would change the names, not making it a non-fiction book. Or short story perhaps. Maybe it would turn out to be a play. One thing was certain however, Erik would be the villain.

Walking past Mother’s roses and down the path leading to the servant’s courters, she stopped. She stood by the toolshed, a frown on her face. She frowned and hesitated. She was not afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of how easily it was to hide in it. She whipped around when she heard a pained gasp. She realised that it wasn’t coming from behind her, but from behind the toolshed. She took two steps behind the shed and gasped. In the pale moonlight she could make out two figures. One was Kurt, undeniably. He was on the ground on all fours, gasping for air. She clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. Frozen she could do nothing as the other figure rose and scrambled away from the scene. 

“Raven?” Kurt asked in a hoarse voice. Raven nodded mute with shock. She knelt down by Kurt, asking him if he was okay. Kurt nodded, just as shocked as Raven. 

“What happened?” She managed to ask. Kurt was quiet, probably the shock. Raven gulped and brushed off the grass from Kurt’s crumpled jacket.

“I saw him.” Raven said. Remembering the steps that had followed her previously. Kurt gave her a look, as if asking for the answer. Raven realised that he must have failed to see who attacked him, Raven gave him a hug, asking once more if he was okay. 

“I saw him. I’m certain of it.” Raven repeated. She asked if Kurt knew how had tried to take advantage of him so savagely. Kurt was quiet.

“It was Erik.” It felt like betrayal all over again when she’d spoken the words. Kurt looked at her with wide eyes. She nodded, confirming the horrible truth to him.

“You saw him?” Raven nodded, not noticing Kurt’s hint of pure surprise. 

“Like you said, he wanted to do horrible things to my brother. He’s a maniac, what would stop him from doing it to you? What horrible things he would have done if i hadn’t intervened.” Raven thought herself even more of a hero when she’d said it.

“He came up behind me… I was looking for you, we all were. Brian said that you weren’t in your room. So I went looking, and suddenly he had his hands on me and…” Kurt burst out crying, not being able to finish the sentence. Raven patted his shoulder, not really sure how to comfort him. She’d never seen a boy cry before. 

“I saw him, I’m certain of it.”

“Because I couldn’t say it really-“ Raven interrupted Kurt’s broken whisper and said;

“It was Erik  Lehnsherr . I saw it with my own two eyes.” The others had gone out looking for Raven, so it was easy to find Father, looking, shouting her name in the garden. He’d rushed to their aid when he spotted Kurt, who was leaning on Raven for support. When Mother joined them, gasping in shock and promptly bursting out in tears, Father shouted for her brother. Who was only a few yards away. Father instructed him to call for the police and a doctor.The party surged back into the drawing room, Charles going upstairs to make the call. Mother was tending to Kurt, asking him over and over again if he was alright. Erik was no where to be seen. Raven looked out the gardens, remembering what he’d done, to Charles, to Kurt… She knew that he had to be done. She’d seen it. She had to do it. And she would do it. The police was to arrive, she knew that this was the best moment to speak up. She swallowed and quietly turned to the group.

“I know who did it.”

Her memories of the interrogation and signed statements and testimony, or of her awe outside the courtroom from which her youth excluded her, would not trouble her so much in the years to come as her fragmented recollection of that late night and summer dawn. How guilt refined the methods of self-torture, threading the beads of detail into an eternal loop, a rosary to be fingered for a lifetime.

But as a Humber stopped outside the house and two police inspectors and two constables were shown in, Raven could only think of the justice she had to deliver. Raven was their only source, and she made herself speak calmly. Her vital role fuelled her certainty. This was in the unstructured time before formal interviews, when she was standing facing the officers in the hallway, with Father on one side of her and Mother on the other. Only they were allowed hearing her interrogation, the rest had been shown to the drawing room The senior inspector had a heavy face, rich in seams, as though carved from folded granite. Raven was fearful of him as she told her story to this watchful unmoving mask; as she did so she felt as she told her story to this watchful unmoving mask; as she did so she felt a weight lifting from her and a warm submissive feeling spread from her stomach to her limbs. It was like love, a sudden love for this watchful man who stood unquestioningly for the cause of goodness, who came out at all hours to do battle in its name, and who was backed by all the human powers and wisdom that existed. Under his neutral gaze her throat constricted and her voice began to buckle. She wanted the inspector to embrace her and comfort her and forgive her, however guiltless she was. But he would only look at her and listen. _It was him. I saw him._ Her tears were further proof of the truth she felt and spoke, and when Father’s hand caressed her nape, she broke down completely and was led towards the drawing room. When she mentioned the letter, the inspector had asked to see it. Raven wasn’t certain of where it might be. Somewhere in Charles’ room perhaps. 

She couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes when she walked into the drawing room, neither Erik or Charles were anywhere to be seen. Sebastian was trying to comfort Kurt. The second officer pulled her gently to the side and asked her to find the letter. Raven nodded, glancing at Kurt. She knew she had to do it. With her heart in her throat she walked up the stairs. She hesitated for a moment before opening the door.

Earlier that day, the room had been lit with the sun, although be it messy, it was cozy and inviting. In the dark, it felt eerie, like the beginning of a horror novel. She stepped into the room and turned on the light. She walked up to the desk, starting to look at the single pages scattered over it. With no results, she moved over to the bed. Only pillows and a thin duvet was on it. Biting her lip she looked over to the window, sighing in relief when she spotted it lying on the window sill. She picked up the letter, reading through it, despite already knowing the contents. She dutifully went back to the drawing room, giving the letter to the second officer. He informed her that Charles were interrogated at the moment. 

Mother approached her as Raven was consulting with the watch. Telling her it was almost midnight. She made a sound of protest when she said that Raven had to go to bed, it was late. But Mother insisted. After hearing the request repeated by Father, Raven sighed and obediently walked up the stairs again. 

When she woke it was still dark. She head yelling downstairs and jumped out of bed. Barefoot she ran down the stairs, rushing to get to the main entrance. She ran across the landing and down the stairs. She didn't take notice to Mother’s sound of disapproval. She looked over the grounds, spotting a police humber with all four doors opened. She gasped when something brushed past her, when she looked up, it was Erik. His hands were handcuffed behind him. Two officers escorting him to the vehicle. She nearly falls when Charles’ voice rang out into the night.

“Erik!” Erik stopped in his tracks and turned around, despite the officers trying to stop him. He smiled sadly at Charles, who was running across the driveway Charles caught Erik’s lapel and leaned in. Raven frowned at the scene. Charles wasn’t scared, not at all, he seemed almost relieved. She saw Charles’ lips move, before he was gently pulled off by an officer. Erik was pushed into the car, the rumbling of the motor started. It started to drive away, Raven felt nauseated when she saw Erik starring at her through the window. An accusing, betrayed look on his face.

The car had only managed to move about twenty yards form the estate when Charles turned around, walking up to them with quick steps. Raven’s eyes widen and she took in a quick breath when she saw the pure, unforgiving fury in his eyes. She’d never seen him so angry before. Father tried to call out his name, but he paid no mind. His eyes were locked on her. She’d always thought her mature for her age, but now she felt like a small, helpless girl.

Charles looked down at her with a tight jaw. There was tears in his eyes. Raven had never seen him cry before. He breathed out harshly and pointed at her, mouth moving but no sound came out. Muted by anger, his hands shaking he took another hard breath.

“I will never forgive you for this.” 


	2. 1944

Two

1944

 

_November, 29th, 1944._

_Dear Erik,_

_I think of you often. You must think me stupid to worry so much, I know that you’ll manage better than most in the horrors of war._

_I’m still working at the veterans hospital, I see the consequences of this war everyday. I try to save as many as I can, but as you know supplies are scarce. The hardest part of it all is to watch the endless rows of wounded men and decide. Who is worth saving and who is too far gone to help. It’s like playing God amongst men. It is not fair. As much as they are suffering, I cannot help but worry about you. For I am scared to one day see you in one of the hospital beds. I wouldn’t know what to do if I found you there, you think me selfish. I know you do. And I admit that I breathe a sigh of relief when I can’t find your name in the lists of casualties._

_I hope you are not worrying about me as I do you. I’m safe here, even though we are all afraid. Raven has tried to send me letters, before you get cross with me, I have not opened them and I don’t tend to do so either. I think she’s still trying to apologise. I am also selfish in the fact that I’ll probably never will forgive her. I know you’re angry with her, as you are entitled to. I know you’re angry at this war, at the Germans, at your superiors. It’s a lot to ask of you, but please, Erik, do not let this anger consume you. Calm your mind, it is the only way for you to survive. Impulsive behaviour will send you to an early grave. Be calm Erik, think about what I’ve told you. There’s a small apartment in Oxford waiting for you. A warm bed, windows overlooking the university. I’ve already made the arrangements. A friend from university is kind enough to let us stay for as long as we like. I long for your return. This city reeks of pain._

_All you have to do is to survive and we will meet again. When the war is over, how long that may take, I will wait for you. I love you, as you love me and we will be together again. Survival is vital, do not let anger make you aim falsely or make the road back longer than it has to be. Calm your mind._

_Yours, Char._

Erik had never been a man of prayer. He knew that his father had been, as his mother had told him. But as he read Charles’ words again, he could almost hear his soothing voice over the harsh wind. He could imagine Charles writing him letters in the dead of night, carefully crafting paragraphs of promise and hopes. Erik wanted to believe them, Charles knew him better than anyone. How much of Erik’s passion had turned to anger in the three years of imprisonment that he had to endure. Erik carefully folded the letter up, holding the thin, frail paper to his lips, whispering into it. Hoping that somehow, his words of prayer could travel overseas, that they could reach Charles. That Charles would know that Erik would do anything to be able to leave the trenches. Erik opened his eyes, not realising that he’d closed them and slowly put the letter back in its envelope. He carefully put it back into the pile of letters that Charles had written him, securing the bundle in the inner pocket of his jacket.

“What was that?” Erik glanced at Howlett, a Sergeant that helped him dig the foxhole that Erik and two others were sharing. Erik wrapped his jacket tighter against his chest, as if that would make Charles’ letters hidden from prying eyes. But they had already seen Erik reading them, over and over again. Erik sighed and muttered;

“Hebrew.” He said quietly. Closing his eyes, hoping that his chattering teeth would cease. Even in the close space, the cold of winter seeped through the tarp covering them. Howlett raised an eyebrow and laughed. He commented that Erik didn’t seem like a man who believed. Erik asked Howlett in a monotone voice who seemed like a man of prayer in the first place. Howlett shrugged. 

“That’s your gal?” Erik looked over at Private.Miller, a reservist that somehow had managed to survive the 101st Airborne’s mission in Holland, or so far he’d survived. Miller pointed at Erik’s chest where Erik’s most precious belongings lied. Erik clicked his jaw and hesitantly nodded once. Miller broke into a smile.

“She’s gonna wait for ya?” Miller was a reservist from Ohio and somewhat dimwitted, Erik didn't have to tell him anything, but he nodded once again nonetheless.

“I wish I had a gal waiting for me. She’s a looker isn’t she?” Erik grimaced but nodded again. Miller raised an eyebrow for Erik to elaborate. Erik glanced at Howlett, who tried to act disinterested, but Erik could see his curiosity.

“She’s smart too, went to Oxford. She’s smarter than me by miles.” Erik said, he couldn’t help but let his praise out. Charles was the only topic that Erik was happy to discuss. Both Miller and Howlett raised impressed eyebrows. It was widely known throughout the company that Erik was a smart man. Often acting as a translator and his superiors praised his logistic and strategic skills. Erik’s persistence and skill had earned him a position of a trusted Private.  Even though he was a good solider, he wasn't eligible to climb up the ranks. Being sent directly from prison sentenced Erik to a low Private ranking.

“An American jew with German heritage, fighting Nazis and his sweetheart his a Brit. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.” Miller said, leaning back. Erik rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. The fact that Erik’s parents were German and had earned him the nickname ‘Red Kraut’, Erik wasn’t sure if he hated it or was pleased by it.

“My sweetheart isn’t a Brit, just have the accent.” He muttered and tried to warm his hands by blowing air into them. Howlett snorted and gave Erik a look.

“That’s stupid.” They fell into silence, then Miller spoke up.

“You got a picture of her?” Erik gave Miller a look that Miller was being stupid, but Miller didn’t cower. Erik rolled his eyes when Miller leaned forward and said;

“Well, do you?” He asked after a few seconds of silence.

“All I need, is up here.” Erik said with a smirk, pointing at his head. Miller burst out laughing, Howlett had a more appropriate reaction and just let out a small chuckle. 

“You sly bastard!” Erik sighed and leaned back, trying to gather energy and warmth. 

In 1942 when Pearl Harbour had been attacked and the Americans declared war, Erik had been in prison. He’d been sentenced on the accounts of sodomy and rape. He’d been given a choice to either serve in the army or finish his sentence. For Erik, the choice had been easy. In the army Erik found, that few cared about one’s life before volunteering. Erik had been sent from prison to basic training. Serving in the army had not been the challenge that Erik had first expected. Years of physical labour behind him, he excelled through basic. Then, he choose to continue his training in a new division. It served Erik an extra hundred dollars a month. And he knew that a convict like him would hardly get a job. Veteran or not. He’d earned his place within the Airborne, being a man of value in E-company. Sometimes it scared him how easy it was to fire a deadly shot. How easy it was for Erik to walk past bodies and trenches filled with red. Charles was right, Erik was too angry at the world to feel an ounce of pity.

Charles had always enjoyed Winter, playing in the snow, making snowmen and starting snowball fights. It was one of the few times in life where Charles seemed to be completely carefree. So as Erik had been dropped in Belgium, in September and the months passed, reaching Winter. He’d tried to think of Charles’ poor aim and laugh as he tried to hit Erik with a snowball. He tried to think of Winter at Westechester instead of Privates losing toes because of hypothermia. Winter was long, the days stretched on for hours without end. Most of the time, they stayed in their foxholes, waiting for orders. Erik felt restless during the hours of waiting. His mind often drifting to a dirty cell, or worse to a hot summer and a library. To things that Erik had no power in changing.

Erik tried to keep himself warm by flipping his knife, trying to get better, practicing to pass time. To keep boredom and memories at bay. Erik focused on keeping his movements swift and easy, entranced in the action, he didn’t notice when the tarp was lifted.

“Hey fellas.” Erik swore and almost dropped the knife. He gave Doc a sour stare and sighed. Miller and Howlett greeted him, the three making space as Doc slid down into the foxhole. Erik huffed and put the knife back in its sheath. Doc didn’t wear gloves like Erik, Eugene's hands were red and turning blue at the tips. Erik’s teeth chattered involuntarily . 

“Do any of you have any morphine from Holland? Scissors, bandaids, plasma, anything really.” The three of them gave Doc identical looks of a negative. Doc swore under his breath and deflated. Erik raised an eyebrow. The lack of supplies was well known by now. Most of the men carrying close to no ammunition, even less extra medical supplies. Then Miller pointed at Erik.

“Ask Red Kraut, it’s not like he needs it.” Erik kicked Miller’s leg under the blanket and gave him a dirty look. Miller kicked him back, Erik swore again and then turned to Doc, who was looking hopeful.

“Sorry Doc, needed it in Eindhoven, I got nothing.” He said truly. There had been no time or ability to re-stock before they marched out to Jacques. Doc sighed heavily and shook his head. As he crouched up and lifted the snow covered tarp again, Miller grabbed his sleeve.

“Got any smokes Doc?” Eugene rolled his eyes, but reached into his jacket. He pulled out a smushed pack and threw it at Miller, who was praising him like he’d delivered a Nazi head on a spike. 

“Ask from 3rd, heard that they got supplies from a drop before they went in.” Erik tried to offer. Doc shook his head. 

“Just came from there, they don’t even got bandaids to spare.” He said and left. Miller shook his head and smiled at the pack of smokes. Erik gestured at Miller, who gave him a look.

“Don’t hog them Private.” He said briskly. Miller laughed and conceded, throwing a stick at Erik. Erik rolled his eyes at Miller’s childishness and started to search for a lighter. The army was short on everything, rations, ammo, smokes, even fucking shovels for foxholes. They didn’t even have winter clothing. Surviving Belgian winter was a difficult task. But as Erik breathed in smoke, thinking of rolling cigarettes for Charles, listening to Miller discussing Lugar guns with Howlett, things didn’t seem so bad. 

They had to keep moving to avoid trench foot. As dawn approached, Erik moved in between foxholes, trying to find something edible that wasn’t snow boiled with bark. Easy company had been called for Bastogne. Trying to hold ground, taking control of the Bois Jacques woods. Trying to approach the city of Foy. In Erik’s mind, it was a suicide mission. Near to no supplies wasn’t the worst part. Or even the cold, or the empty stomach. It was first Lieutenant Dike. He wasn’t bad commander because he carried out bad orders. He was a bad commander because he carried out none. Charles was worried that Erik’s anger would send him to an early grave. Charles had not considered that the American army was lead by useless commanders. Erik was certain that many lives would be lost under Dike’s command. But Erik was a Private, he was in no place to say anything.

They had secured little ground. The men that had survived D-day had been immediately sent to France, they who’d survived France was to parachute into Holland. Replacements joining them before the jump. Erik detested them. The replacements had no idea what they were going into. Wanting to be on the front lines and kill Nazis. They had no idea what part of humanity one gave up in battle. 

Two hundred and fifty men were hiding in graves in Belgian woods. If someone had told Erik that it was this way wars were won, he’d laughed. Despite his covered hands, they were deep into his pockets, walking fast in-between holes to get warmer. His breath felt frozen on his lips, his ears were burning. Though another day was due and according to Charles’ logic, a day closer to the end of the war, Erik felt fatigue in his bones. He was not special, all the men had gotten used to the lack of sleep, the lack of humanitarian necessities. 

Erik walked up to another foxhole, sliding down. He was greeted with smiles and a slap on the shoulder. As much as Charles hated war, he could have never predict that it would be the catalyst where Erik would get friends.

“Anyone got food for a fellow solider?” Erik asked as he leaned back against the cold ground. The foxhole was surprisingly deep, considering the fact how hard it was to dig through frozen dirt. He was met with a series of no’s. Erik sighed and ignored his empty stomach for a second. He frowned and pointed at a man who did not wear jump wings on his sleeve.

“Who the fuck are you?” Erik did not take kindly to men that was not apart of his own division. He was wearing infantry badges. In Erik’s mind, no one except the Airborne deserved to share foxholes with Easy. After training at Camp Toccoa under Sobel and surviving D-day, it was few men that Erik considered worthy. The man smiled and shrugged.

“A man with an extra K-ration.” The men in the foxhole, Popeye, Johnny and Liebgott started to hit at the man, trying to get hands on the precious cargo that he claimed to have. Erik was quiet, considering him. He reminded Erik a little bit of Charles. Blue eyes, not as clear blue as his, but blue nonetheless. Brown hair that covered his brow. High cheekbones and a playful look in his eye. Erik hated him on the spot. 

“So you are Private Erik Lensheer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The man said after he’d swatted his fellow men away, and they’d quieted down. Erik just offered a simple nod.

“Is it true that you shot down captured Krauts in Carentan? That’s a war crime you know.” He said with a small smile. Erik clenched his jaw and fists. Carentan was the origin of his nickname and no one in Easy dared to remind him of it. This man clearly didn’t know that. Popeye told the man to shut the fuck up and Johnny threatened him that he would kick him out of the foxhole, K-rations or not. The man laughed and held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Calm down, I’m a fan. That’s all.” Erik considered to leave, but he was afraid that it would be thought as fleeing. Erik had never fled from anything in his entire life, he wasn’t going to cower under some solider in a foxhole in Belgium either. 

“What if I did? One less to take care off.” He muttered. The Easy soldiers hollered in agreement.

“Take this as a sign of thanks.” He said, reaching into his pack, pulling out a K-ration. Erik hesitantly accepted, slapping Easy company hands away. He gave them all looks to back the fuck away. No unit had been touched, K-rations were in actuality disgusting. And provided no close to the amount of energy needed. But choosing between a K-ration and tree bark was an easy choice. He opened up a breakfast unit, handing out a pack of cigarettes, telling the men to share it. Then a pack of biscuits that he gave to Popeye, knowing that he would split it fairly. Erik took out a can of ham and eggs, holding it up like it was the best thing he’d seen in years. Two weeks in Jaques without proper rations, it was. 

“How the hell did a Infantry solider get hands on K-rations?” Johnny asked. Erik looked up, also interested in the answer. K-rations were given out exclusively to the Airborne divisions. Infantry usually got C-rations. The man shrugged.

“Army is short on everything at this point. They give out what they got.” Erik, still frowning, opened the can. As he took the first bite, canned food had never tasted better. Growing up at Westchester had not left him hungry. Often eating the food that the Xavier’s didn’t want to consume. They were a wealthy family and Erik’s meals could consists of anything from steak to cream cake. That paled in comparison how it felt to eat proper food for the first time in days.

“What’s your name, KR?” Liebgott asked, slowly eating a biscuit. Erik gave him a dirty look. Nicknames were earned after hard work and getting one in E-company was a difficult task. Erik looked down at his food, then thinking about his grateful stomach and thought that the name wasn’t undeserved.

“Sergeant James Barnes, 107th infantry.” He said, pulling up a metal cup. Erik nearly spit out the food in surprise.

“107th? What the fuck are you doing in Belgium?” Johnny asked. Barnes sighed heavily and leaned back. His was smile was gone and replaced with a sour expression.

“The 107th were meant to aid in Operation Pegasus. My squad was broken up, couldn’t find them. I caught a ride to Antwerp. Got reassigned to 771st Anti-Aircraft Artillery Gun Battalion. And now I’m here. “ He said simply, leaning back. Erik nodded, finally understanding him a little bit. They were silent for a few minutes. The foxhole slowly being filled with cigarette smoke and satisfied chewing.

“I think they’re dead.” James commented casually. Erik’s spoon paused by his mouth. Barnes’ casual tone and blank eyes told them all that he’d already given up hope. None of them offered words of hope or condolences. They all knew what that could do to a solider’s mind.

“We got separated at Omaha. They say we lost five thousand. So…” Barnes trailed off, picking at his nails. Erik could see that Barnes tried to keep his tears at bay. If Barnes would start to cry, no one would think less of him. War brought out the foulest of things and Erik was starting to understand why Charles hated it.

“You’re alive. Until you see a body, they’re also alive.” Liebgott said. It wasn’t meant to be kind or even comforting. It was fact that they all had to live by.  Barnes nodded and picked up a cigarette. Erik clenched his jaw, but leaned forward with his lighter. Barnes muttered a thanks and they resumed to sit in silence.

They needed all the men that they could find and Sergeant Barnes was to join them for a combat patrol later that day. Few made they protest heard when they found out that Barnes had survived Omaha beach and a trip through France and Belgium. Erik found himself walking next to him in column lines. Sucking on a cigarette all thanks to Barnes. The Sergeant had lighted up a little bit, and was soon talking about his home. Brooklyn. Erik had never stepped a foot in Brooklyn. Barnes found it impossible when Erik told him that he grew up in New York. Barnes was young, same age as Charles. Walking next to the brunette reminded Erik painfully of him. But he secretly was grateful that Charles would never be at the front lines. Erik knew that Charles would never survive it. Snow fell heavily under them, making it hard to walk through the deep snow. Their boots were not meant to be worn in minus weather. Erik was cold despite wearing two pairs of socks. Tree branches covered in icicles and Erik could barley make out the tree lines in the heavy wind. Soon, they separated into pairs, trying to get ground of the forest. Erik knew that it was going to be a fruitless attempt. Yet another stupid order that had been carried out by Dirk. Each day turned out to be worse than the next. The air getting colder and more frigid with every passing hour. And Commander Dirk nothing to ease his own men’s suffering. A cold wind was blowing from the South, making the trees rattle like the men walking next to them. Erik bit his tongue to keep his teeth hitting against each other. He watched Barnes, marching next to him. Barnes moved with surprising ease, getting cover and didn’t make a sound throughout the entire ordeal. Both of them whipped around when they heard gunfire. They shared a look and Barnes swore.

“Lehnsherr, up the fucking line!” Erik swore when he heard Howlett’s voice ringing out in the forest. They moved, rifles ready to fire. Erik swore again when he heard that Johnny was hit. Moving left and right, he was by Howlett’s side in seconds, a group of five were scatted behind tree logs, trying to get cover. Then he saw Johnny, it was solid hit in his side. He’d listen enough of Charles droning on and on about his studies to know that if Johnny didn’t get assistance soon, he would bleed out and die.

“Get Doc.” He hissed at Liebgott. Despite Erik being just a Private, more often than not, the soldiers listened to his word. Liebgott nodded and started to run back. Erik, covering him, was on his knees, trying to locate the Germans. Erik fired blindly hoping that at least one would hit target. Snow and dust was covering his entire eyesight. Erik leaned back, covering himself from line of fire behind some tree logs. 

“We need to get Johnny!” He tried to make his voice heard over the gunfire. After two years of service and battle, Erik’s hearing had gone a little off, he didn’t hear when Barnes approached him from behind.

“I’ll get him!” Barnes yelled into his ear. Erik frowned, considering it. Barnes wasn’t a part of Easy and his OP wasn’t to save these men. Erik turned to look at Johnny, the snow surrounding him was red. He was lying in the middle of fire, exposed. Erik clenched his jaw and turned to Barnes again, giving him an affirmative nod.

“Suppressing fire!” He yelled before turning back around, trying to cover Barnes the best he could. The sound of his men yelling and the gunfire made Erik’s yes narrow, trying make out at least the silhouettes of the enemy. Barnes was yelling for Johnny, trying to make him to lay still. Erik was desperately trying to aim true, knowing that he had nothing to re-load with. The forest of Bois Jaques provided more than enough coverage. Piles of tree logs stocked on top of one and other acting as shields. It would be impossible for the Germans to spot them, it also meant that it was impossible for them to spot the Germans. Erik felt his heart beat faster. With several gunfire battles in his history, Erik would never get used to the sounds of metal hitting flesh. The screams of guttural pain. How grown men shouted for their mother, God, anyone who could save them. Erik knew that there was no one to to save these men. The evacuation hospital in Bastogne was serval miles away and as Johnny howled for Doc, Erik felt himself already grieving the loss of another fellow soldiers life.

“Someone get CP, for fucks sake!” He heard Howlett yell. Erik watched as Barnes crawled in the snow to get to Johnny. Erik swore, getting up in a crouch for better aim. He swore again when he heard Barnes scream in pain, his hands pressing down on his right shoulder. Erik heard the blood in his ears. The crack of bullets being fired. The hissing as they flew past. Erik tried once more to make his voice to be heard. He could barley make out his own words over the gunfire.

“We need to pull back!” Erik yelled, then without even thinking about the consequences he crawled over. Keeping low, hearing bullets hissing over him, he reached Barnes, grabbing his shoulders and starting to pull. Barnes, understanding what Erik was trying to do, grabbed onto Johnny. Erik was exhausted for days he’d been running on nothing but fumes and Barnes’ K-ration had been the first thing he’d eaten of significance. He clenched his jaw tight as he started to pull, trying to get cover. Erik tried to make Barnes press down at his wound while Barnes was trying to hold onto Johnny. Erik gritted his teeth together, trying not to yell out out of pure exhaustion. His arms were crawling with ants after just managing to get Barnes and Johnny half a yard closer to coverage.

“I have two down, I need a fucking medic over here!” He yelled, pulling once more. He hoped that someone would hear him. He hoped that Eugene had the energy to run the two kilometres fast enough. The countless runs up Currahee hill would make sure of that. But as gunfire continued and no one arrived, Erik’s hopes dissipated quickly. Erik swore the entire crawl back to cover, his arms burning, his eyes watering. 

“Medic!” Erik repeated when he saw Barnes’ face starting to pale, his grip on Johnny loosening. Erik slapped Barnes’ face, trying to make him keep consciousness. Barnes barley reacted. Erik cursed and turned his head. Most of the patrol had already started to retreat, only a handful remained. He made eye contact with  Private  Wayne Sisk. His eyes, like Erik’s were clear and focused. Months of intense battle, seeing friends bleed out or lose limbs, tended to harden men to not be surprised by anything. Erik’s voice was clear, despite his throat being dry. 

“Skinny! Get Johnny!” The two started to drag the wounded out of fire. They had started to make their retreated and the gunfire didn’t even pause for a second. The run for the tree lines was the longest run that Erik had endured, yelling at the two men to stay the fuck alive. Erik breathed out in relief when he saw Doc running towards them. Eugene was already pulling out badges from his pack as he ran. Erik felt adrenalin pulse through his veins. On D-day his levels of adrenalin had been up to his ears. He’d almost felt high of it. Perhaps that was the reason that they could go hungry and tried most of the time. 

“We got two hit!” Howlett yelled at him. Doc bent down, hovering over Johnny. He pressed dirty fingers into his side and started to demand for a jeep. He quickly produced cloth and pressed over the wound. Charles would be horrified by the barbaric treatment. Erik, copying Doc’s actions, cut away Barnes’ shoulder of his jacket, exposing the bullet wound. Barnes didn’t even make a sound.

“Barnes!” Erik yelled when he saw him closing his eyes. His clean shaved face and soft brown hair reminding him of Charles. Erik grimaced and pressed into the wound hard. Barnes let out a scream and Erik didn’t feel sorry when he saw bright blue eyes again. Doc had managed to find morphine, quickly injecting the two of them with a shot. Erik and Howlett carried Barnes, Erik holding his shoulders and started to retreat once more. Erik was panting hard, when he glanced down at Barnes, all blood gone from his face and heard his shallow breathing, Erik ran faster. He knew that Barnes probably looked nothing like Charles. But Erik hand’t seen him since 1942. He didn’t even have a photograph. His mind mixed Barnes and Charles together and suddenly, it was Charles Xavier that was dying in his arms. Erik swore and mustered the last of his energy to pull harder.

Erik watched as the jeep drove away, bound for Bastogne. Erik clenched his fists tight. Somehow he was hoping that Barnes would survive. He’d known him for only six hours and he hoped. Johnny was declared dead when they’d reached CP. Erik didn’t cry for Johnny, no one did. Because they had all at some point realised that the possibility of getting killed was bigger than surviving. 

“Barnes will be sent back to New York.” Erik glanced at Liebgott, who’d approached his side. Erik said nothing, but Liebgott elaborated anyway. Erik wanted to know nothing of New York, it reminded him too much of him. Maybe Charles would receive Barnes in the next list of veterans. Erik quickly waved the thought away, feeling stupid and naive.

“They’re evacuating Bastogne. For some fucking reason before getting a supply drop in first.” He said bitterly. Erik sighed and reached into his pocket, getting a pack of cigarettes out. Erik closed his eyes and lit it, trying to keep his mind off Summer and the veterans hospital.

Erik lied awake next to Miller and Howlett, smoking the last cigarette from the B-unit. He’d shared with both Miller and Howlett, even though the man claimed to enjoy cigars more. Exhaustion made him vulnerable to the thoughts he wanted least. He touched his top pocket where the poem Charles sent was enfolded in his letter. _The past: a new and uncertain world. A world of endless possibilities and infinite outcomes. Countless choices define our fate: each choice, each moment, a moment in the ripple of time. Enough ripple, and you change the tide... for the future is never truly set._ The rest of his letters were buttoned into the inside pocket of Erik’s olive drab coloured jacket. Erik wanted that Charles’ words would ring true some day. That his punishment for a deed he didn’t commit would somehow work as a penance for a brighter future. As Erik looked over at Miller and Howlett, their faces smeared in dirt, tired and older than what they looked. Erik couldn’t manage to scrub off the blood under his nails and as he thought of the Germans and Barnes, Erik’s future felt like it had been set in stone.

Guided by their snores, Erik closed his eyes. But still sleep would not come, or came only in quick plunges from which he emerged, giddy with thoughts he could not choose or direct. They pursued him, the old themes. Here it was again, his only meeting with Charles. Six days out of prison, one day before he started basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey. When they arranged to meet at Fraunces coffee house in lower Manhattan in 1942, they had not seen each other for three years. He was at the café early and took a corner seat with a view of the door. Freedom was still a novelty. The pace and clatter, the colours of coats, jackets and skirts, the bright, loud conversations of East Village shoppers, the friendliness of the girl who served him, the spacious lack of threat. He sat back and enjoyed the embrace of the everyday. It had a beauty he alone could appreciate.

During his time inside, the only visitor he was permitted was his mother. In case he was inflamed, they said. Charles wrote every week. In love with him, willing himself to stay sane for Charles, Erik was naturally in love with his words. When he wrote back, he pretended to be his old self, he lied his way into sanity. For fear of his psychiatrist who was also their censor, they could never be sensual, or even emotional. His was considered a modern, enlightened. He had been diagnosed, with clinical precision, as morbidly over-sexed, a homosexual, and in need of help as well as correction. He was not to be stimulated in any sense of the matter.

The choice of writing to Charles as if he was woman had come as an obvious one. Both had realised with out needing the communication, that Erik writing to Charles romantically would only be the action of an extreme idiot. Referring to Charles as Char and pretending to write to a woman, Erik felt was making a mockery of his affections. Still, despite their discretisation some letters were confiscated, claimed to be too sensual and too friendly.

So they wrote about literature, and used characters as codes. At Dalton, they would sit in the school cafeteria, discussing books and science. They rarely spoke of fictional literature, Charles claimed that he had never really understood it. In his time in prison, it had opened up a wide assortment of topics they’d never discussed. Charles was starting to read classic romance novels. Of couples, whose fate ended in tragedy. Tristan and Isolde, the Duke Orsino and Olivia, Troilus and Criseyde, Mr Knightley and Emma, Venus and Adonis. Lehnsherr and Xavier. Once, in despair, he referred to Prometheus, chained to a rock, his liver devoured daily by a vulture. Sometimes Charles was patient Griselde. Mention of ‘ _a quiet corner in a library_ ’ was a code for sexual ecstasy. They charted the daily round too, in boring, loving detail. Charles would never write about his pursuit of becoming a doctor, because there were none who were female. Instead he wrote that he was training to become a nurse at Halloran Debarkation hospital. Erik knew that Charles would excel, but they never discussed the finer details of it. When Charles wrote, ‘ _I went to the library today to get the anatomy book I told you about. I found a quiet corner and pretended to read’_ , Erik knew he was feeding on the same memories that consumed him every night, beneath thin prison blankets.

When Charles entered the cafe, wearing a stark white Doctor’s coat, startling him from a pleasant daze, he stood too quickly and knocked his coffee. He was conscious of the oversized suit his mother had saved for. The jacket did not seem to touch his shoulders at any point. They sat down, looked at each other, smiled and looked away. Erik and Charles had been making love for years , by post. In their coded exchanges they had drawn close, but how artificial that closeness seemed now as they embarked on their small-talk, their helpless catechism of polite query and response. 

As the distance opened up between them, they understood how far they had run ahead of themselves in their letters. This moment had been imagined and desired for too long, and could not measure up. He had been out of the world, and lacked the confidence to step back and reach for the larger thought. _I love you, and you saved my life._ Three years of imprisonment and Erik had grown mute, using his mouth to from words had not been necessary. Erik found himself unable to use the skill as he sat opposite Charles. Charles Xavier, ever so patient had asked if Erik would like another coffee. Charles would talk about trivial things, his apartment in Staten Island, his horrendous neighbour and about how hard it was to find good tea nowadays. Nothing that could be considered scandalous. Yet Erik was mute, sucking up every word Charles had to say. He’d been waiting for their meeting for three years and he couldn’t even greet him. Erik felt small and pathetic, hating what prison had done to him. Abhorring what Raven Xavier had done to him. 

Erik nearly dropped his coffee a second time when he felt Charles’ hand rest over his. Exactly as it had done at their last dinner together at the mansion. Erik gave Charles a look that was supposed to be stern, but he thought that it probably came across as scared. Charles gave him a mild smile.

“There’s no one watching.” He tried to ease him.

“There’s always someone watching.” Erik said hoarsely, remembering Raven’s prying eyes. But he didn't pull away. He had never been able to pull away from Charles. Erik was however placing around the room, ready to pull away if someone’s eyes wandered too far. Charles sensed his rabbit fast heart and squeezed his hand.

“Calm your mind, Erik.” Erik took a deep breath, breathing out slowly. Erik clenched his jaw and nodded slowly, not able to express his thankfulness in words. Charles understood. Fuck, he always understood every aspect of Erik’s mind. He could see the ever present resentment in his eyes. He could feel Erik’s anger like it was his own. Charles understood why Erik had turned silent and made no comment of it. It was like Charles had explored every corner of his mind, being able to navigate through the corridors made of past horrors.

“Charles… You do not owe me anything.” Erik managed to bite out. Desperately trying to provide some kind of exit option for Charles. Erik knew Charles as well as Charles knew him. And Erik knew that Charles would feel guilty if he did not help those in need. But Erik was not in need for salvation. It was too late for that. When Erik hesitantly looked up, meeting Charles’, he’d turned sour. He hadn’t pulled away from Erik’s hand. Charles’ grip had turned tighter.

“Listen to me very carefully my friend, you owe me nothing. I owe you everything.” Erik’s shoulders sagged, relieved from tension. Charles didn't have to explain. Charles had not spoken to his parents or sister since October 1939 when Erik was sentenced. Charles would not write to them, nor would he let them know his address. It was through Edith that he let his family know he was well and did not wish to be contacted. Brian Xavier had come to the hospital once, but he would not speak to him. He waited outside the gates all afternoon. When Charles had seen him, he retreated inside until he went away. Charles would write to Erik about the whole ordeal, a veil of comedy wrapped over his words. Like it had been a ironic anecdote. Then in Charles’ last paragraph he would write how he’d realised just how cruel his mother was. Disposing of Erik like he’d been cattle, a tool that no longer served its purpose. Charles had written that Erik had opened his eyes for the truths of the world. Erik felt himself being burdened with the knowledge that he’d removed much of Charles’ nativity that made him playful and kind. Charles’ words were meant as comfort but it reminded Erik what he’d done to him.

“Look at me.” Erik clenched his jaw, looking up from his cup, he was close to tears. So was Charles. Charles leaned forward, his grin tightening to an almost painful degree.

“You’re are not alone, Erik, you are not alone.” Charles whispered a promise and Erik believed him. 

Their conversation didn’t turn playful as it easily had one at Dalton. They spoke in hushed tones about the war. About London. Charles worries and concerns. Erik didn’t try to assure Charles that he was going to survive. He wasn’t sure of it. He read enough of the news paper to know that men were dropping like flies. With Charles open honesty, Erik grew bold. Whispering about moving to Oxford together when the war was over. Charles studying for his Doctorate and Erik working at a factory. At a cafe in lower Manhattan on the 10th April, 1942, Erik and Charles quietly wrote their own future. Crafting up an apartment with Persian rugs and bookshelves filled to the brim, a kettle boiling in the corner. The sound of Giacomo Puccini, a quiet ever-present sound playing in the background. Erik would read German books, and his service uniform would be in the back of his closet. Charles would imagine graduating Oxford, becoming a professor and starting his own school. Erik had called it a little bit too ambitious. Charles looked at him and said that great ambition was the only way that they could get a key to a quiet, small apartment where they could be alone together in the first place. Erik supposed that he was right.

When Charles had to leave to the train back to Staten Island. They were both crying. Most would assume it was two brothers, parting before shipping out. A lie that people made up to avoid seeing the absolute devotion in their eyes. Erik pulled Charles into a small alleyway, Charles was looking at Erik, shaking his head in some exasperation. Erik clenched his jaw and whispered that there was no one looking. Then he took his hand and squeezed. The gesture had to carry all that had not been said, and Charles answered it with pressure from his own hand. Time was passing quickly. Charles didn’t let go. They were standing face to face. Charles kissed him, lightly at first, but they drew closer, and when their tongues touched, a disembodied part of himself was abjectly grateful, for he knew he now had a memory in the bank and would be drawing on it for months to come. He was drawing on it now, in a foxhole in Belgium, in the small hours. They tightened their embrace and went on kissing while people passed by. Oblivious to the tragedy playing out in a dirty alleyway in New York city. The sound of an automobile horn rang in their ears. Charles was crying onto his cheek, and his sorrow stretched his lips against Erik’s.

Erik was awakened by the sound of loud hollering. Erik instinctively grabbed his rifle lying next to him. Howlett was on his knees, opening up the trap, letting bright, white light into the hole. Erik squinted his eyes and cursed, asking what was going on. Miller was dragging Erik up, the Private unable to answer. Erik hit at Miller’s shoulder, repeating his question.

“Germans approaching, they got tanks!” Erik cursed loudly again, letting up on his feet and out of the foxhole in seconds. His cold hands and frozen ear nibs forgotten as the three ran for the tree lines. With his rifle slung over his shoulder he ran after Howlett. As they passed men were appearing from their foxholes, yelling at each other. Erik saw Popeye in the corner of his eye.

“Popeye, ammunition?” Erik yelled, only managing to have a few rounds in his pack. Taken from Johnny’s pack. Popeye laughed, running next to him.

“You’re fucking pulling my leg. Of course I don’t got fucking ammo!” He yelled back. Erik cursed and slid down on the snow covered dirt. Everyone was short of ammo, but it didn’t hurt to ask. He set his rifle next to Howlett’s machine gun. Howlett grunted and lit a cigar. Erik, too pumped on adrenalin to ask where he’d managed to find cigars. Marleky was jogging around the men, ordering them to hold their fire. Erik rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like .30 M rounds was going to do anything against German tanks. Erik readied his aim, looking out over the forest. Erik breathed out slowly. _Calm your mind._ It was a mantra that repeated in his head over and over again. He could almost hear Charles’ voice when tanks broke out from the opposite tree line, making trees fall in their path. Erik pursed his lips, trying to convince himself that men hiding in foxholes could overcome five fats approaching tanks. 

“Machine guns open fire!” Erik tried to not cower way from the cracks of sound Howlett’s machine gun made. Erik smirked when he saw the white camouflaged Germans taking position. Breathing out slowly, he took aim, pulling the trigger without hesitation. There was no room for encouragement when one of the Germans fell to the ground. Erik simply reloaded and took aim again. Firing a gun and aiming true, Erik had found was a natural skill back in basic. The way the metal felt under his fingers, it was almost like he could predict when a shot would hit or not. Like he could bend the bullet’s path to his will. 

Erik fired another round and his aim didn’t fail. Howlett was letting out colourful curses next to him. His cigar smoke burned his eyes. His ears filled with the sound of holsters hitting the ground. Erik gritted his teeth and fired another shot, it made its way over the field. Hissing through the air, entering his head. Making skin, flesh and bone yield in its way. Another German fell into the snow. 

“I’m almost out!” Erik yelled and reloaded with his last round. He turned his head, swearing when he saw Libegott limbing behind him, leaning on Doc. 

“Hey!” He yelled, after firing another shot. Doc gave him a look. Erik waved at Liebgott.

“Give me your ammo!” He yelled over the white noise warfare provided. Libegott winced but threw his pack and rifle into Erik’s foxhole. Erik breathed out and took aim again. Erik didn’t know how much time passed. Battle for Erik was just taking aim, overpowered by noise. Things like red covered grounds, lone body parts scattered around and ice in his bones went unnoticed. It was Erik and the metal. The only thing that mattered to his survival was taking aim, firing and seeing a body fall. In his eyes it was the only way to get back to American soil. Leaving New York for London. A lone apartment in Oxford. Erik fired another shot. This was the only way home. For all of Erik’s victories and accomplishments, he couldn’t predict everything. All of the men that Erik had made into bare bodies, he was no God. For all his pain he had to endure, he wasn’t immune to it.

“Medic!” Erik frowned. A deep line slashed between his brow. The sound of a machine gun had ceased. Howlett was looking down at him. Erik didn’t understand when he’d lied down. Then he understood what Howlett just had said. Why was he calling for Doc? He was getting Liebgott out. Erik screamed when Howlett pushed at his shoulder. It was like reading in third person. He was dissonant, not being able to fully grasp it. His chest was warm and wet. The blood covering him was his own but it felt surreal. He didn’t understand how it had happened. Erik must have missed a paragraph. This was not a part of the story.

Erik let out another scream, not of pain, but of pure fury. Angry at himself for letting his guard down. Letting himself get shot. Erik wasn’t angry at the war because it was his own fault that he was bleeding. He hand’t seen it coming. He was angry, so angry. His hands were shaking, his eyes were tearing up because of it. Angry that he’d might not be able to go home. That his path home had been cut short. Angry that he wouldn’t see Charles again.

Charles.

Erik stopped breathing for a second. He didn’t think often about his own mortality. In abstract yes. How it felt like to die, selfishly only from his own perspective. Not thinking about what Charles would do. 

_They all turned on you, even my father. They chose to believe the evidence of a silly, hysterical little girl. I know I sound bitter, but my darling, I don’t want to be. I’m honestly happy with my new life and my new friends. I feel I can breathe now. Most of all, I have you to live for. Realistically, there had to be a choice – you or them. How could it be both? I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely._

_You are my dearest one, my reason for life. Char._

Charles’ words rang in Erik’s ears like Charles had spoken them himself. In a matte of fact, Charles words lied over his chest, over his heart that was still somehow beating. Erik sobbed out. _My reason for life._ Not living, but life. That was the touch. Erik imagined Charles, getting a letter of condolences. If he would even receive one. His next to kin was his mother. Charles had been afraid that he would find Erik at the hospital ward. Erik wondered if Charles had considered that he’d already be dead next time they would met. Erik’s heart was running away from him, beating so fast that he couldn’t keep up. Tears streamed freely down his face. His chest heaved up and down, suddenly desperate for air. Charles. Erik couldn’t help himself. He though of the past. A library, ten minutes of pure happiness. Trying to hold down on it, watching it trying to escape his grasp. He closed his eyes, he couldn’t find it. He couldn’t find his breath. Closing the world out felt like ecstasy. Like easing down in a hot bath. Drinking a cold lemonade on a unbearably hot Summers day. He knew in the back of his head that closing his eyes made one’s life shorter. Charles was his reason for life, and why he must survive.

_Calm your mind._

It repeated in his head like a mantra. Forcing him to breathe slowly, forcing his hand up, pressing down on his shoulder, aiding Doc, who was yelling at his face. Erik chuckled. He couldn’t hear what Doc was saying. What was he saying? Erik hissed when the world stopped slowing down and turned on its head. The red colour seemed too vidid. His shoulder ached like a tank had run over it. 

“Erik! Open your fucking eyes!” Erik blinked slowly. He hadn’t realised when he’d closed them. He glanced up and only ten seconds had passed. Howlett had only just now made it down on his knees, trying to get the bleeding to stop. Doc had yelled at him he realised. He could hear bullets hissing over them. Oh. He was still alive. 

“Fucks sake, one bullet to the shoulder and you decide to fucking pass out?” Erik squinted at Howlett and told him to fuck off. Doc was quietly informing Erik that it was only a flesh wound and he probably didn’t even need to go to the evacuation hospital. All of the sudden Erik felt dramatic to have been contemplating his own death. 

Later, in a foxhole, all patched up, Erik would realise that his near to death experience was not even close to death. It had been something akin to a panic attack. His shoulder emitted a slow, pulsing ache, like a beacon. But it didn’t bother Erik expect for that he knew that his aim would be worse in the next coming weeks. Erik starred at the paper in his hands. The last letter he’d sent to Charles was two weeks ago, before digging a foxhole in Belgium. Charles hand’t answered. Or Erik hadn’t received the letter yet. In the midst of a great supply catastrophe, letters were not first priority in the governments eyes. Yet Erik wrote another one. Meaning to post it as soon as possible. 

_Dearest Char…_

_Dearest…._

_Dearest Charles…_

Erik was back at the lodge, the year was 1939. He found himself yet again mute. Unable to write a line. Erik laughed and shook his head. A ritual by now, Erik lit a cigarette, moving it to the corner of his mouth and pressed down his pen. 

_Charles. I long to hold you. To love you as you deserve. I wish I could be with you now, in out apartment in Oxford. When we are there, behind closed doors, I will do everything you want. Kiss you, undress you. Take your cock in my mouth. Let you feel the pleasures of the flesh as I’ve imagined tenfolds before. I would love you better than any woman or man ever could. And we would be together, just you and me. You could do whatever you liked with me, bend me over, mark me, make me kneel before to you. I would love you and what you do to me. I long to bear your bruises and your name. I would wear it with pride._

_I will do all of this. I will adore you. I will make love to you again. I will wait for you. I will survive this war. I will come home. We will be together._

_Yours Erik._

Erik carefully folded the letter, closing the envelope. He knew that he couldn’t sent this particular letter. Every letter that was written by soldiers sent to civilians was opened and read. In the fear of espionage. Erik put it in the bundle of letters, close to his chest, tightening the jacket around himself. Hiding his secrets and hiding Charles behind his uniform. He would give the letter straight to Charles’ hands when he came back. Charles would read it in silence, Charles would positively blush at his crass, explicit words. But Erik knew that he’d enjoy them. Finally they would be able to turn paragraphs of words into reality. No longer a thing that resided in their minds. Erik leaned back in the foxhole. The cold ground surrounding him didn’t feel so hostile anymore. Erik closed his eyes and let himself dream. The future was a river and Erik was intent on changing the tides.


	3. 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??? I don't know what I'm doing??

Three

1945

 

Raven touched the gold necklace around her neck, twisting the locket in a nervous gesture. Moving the locket over the chain, back and forth. It was the only thing that she had left from Father. It induced a sense of calm in her. Raven bit her lip and started to shiver. She moved her hands over her arms, the hunt for warmth turned out to be fruitless. The unease wasn’t confined to the hospital. The dry, late January air seemed to take the breath out of their lungs, slowly suffocating. Raven worked as a nurse in training at Manson Hospital on Long Island. She knew that Charles worked at Halloran on Staten Island, but she had never dared to even consider a visit. She was always faced with painful reminders of her brother. Doctors, in stark white coats would mill around her. An angry, hurried stride carrying themselves bed to bed. Determined to save lives, knowing that their fate rested in their hands. Compared to them, Raven felt small. She’d always felt small when thinking of Charles. Raven often compared herself to the fully trained nurses, the senior staff, the doctors and the brooding porters. What they and Raven all had in common was the undeniable air of defeat surrounding them. It was as strong as the disinfectant, sticky and prodding the nose. The war had not ended, in fact it had reached America’s shores. For three years the entire country had been reeking of fear. She liked to think that she’d managed to keep some what of an resemblance to childish humour, but she knew that she had not. As a child she’d always considered herself to be brave, mature, smart and all the things that constituted an adult. 

At nineteen, she wished she wasn’t so much as an adult as people regarded her as. She missed the nativity of children. The trademark that Charles worn on his sleeve with pride. She wished that she had any left at all. She knew it was selfish of her to only think of herself and her own predicament of the war. So many others had it worse then her. New York was one of the safest countries to be in of the Allies. The evening was young, darkness had already consumed the entire island. Only sparse lights from the street made sure that Raven found herself back to the maze of corridors. She, like the rest of the young trainee nurses, trembled with nerves. Afraid to make a mistake. They all lived in fear of the head nurse, Sister Emma Frost. She was as cold as her name and had no regard for excuses. In secret the trainees would mock her, call her the Ice Queen. Claiming horrid things, like that Sister Frost had deliberately let patients die under her watch. That she enjoyed it. Raven felt like she had no place to mock anyone anymore. Despite that she kept her mouth shut while the trainees submitted Sister Frost under their scorn, Raven didn’t particularly like Sister Frost either. She wasn’t a saint, she would silently agree with the trainees. In a way, Raven found, that was perhaps even worse. She was however aware that her silent disapproval of Sister Frost had not gone unwarranted. Raven knew that she herself had made mistakes and errors during her employment. 

In moments of abstraction she tended to shift her weight onto one foot in a way that particularly enraged her superior. Lapses and failures could carelessly occur over several days: a broom improperly stowed, a blanket folded with its label facing up, a starched collar in infinitesimal disarray, the bed castors not lined up and pointing inwards, walking back down the ward empty handed. Mistakes that were witnessed silently by Sister Frosts’ hawk eyes. 

Raven felt tried to her bones. All day long, bedpans, blanket-bathing, floor cleaning. The girls complained of backache from bed making, and fiery sensations in their feet from standing all day. An extra nursing duty was drawing the blackout over the huge ward windows. Towards the end of the day, more bedpans, the emptying of sputum mugs, the making of cocoa. There was barely time between the end of a shift and the beginning of a class to get back to the dormitory to collect papers and textbooks. Twice in one day, Raven had caught the disapproval of the ward sister for running in the corridor, and on each occasion the reprimand was delivered tonelessly. Only haemorrhages and fires were permissible reasons for a nurse to run.

But the principal domain of the junior probationers was the sluice room. There was talk of automatic bedpan-and bottle-washers being installed, but this was mere rumour of a promised land. For now, they must do as others had done before them. On the day she had been told off twice for running, Raven found herself sent to the sluice room for an extra turn. It may have been an accident of the unwritten roster, but she doubted it. She pulled the sluice room door behind her, and tied the heavy rubber apron around her waist. The trick of emptying, in fact the only way it was possible for her, was to close her eyes, hold her breath and avert her head. Then came the rinsing in a solution of carbolic. She tried to be selfless and only depend on the possibility that she was saving lives, so she could endure every hour, every day with blood under her nails. 

“Sister Xavier.” Raven looked up from the stack of bandages she’d been organising and up at Sister Frost. She’d summoned her in her usual, low, demanding voice. Raven bit the inside of her cheek when her eyes found the floor.

“Yes, Sister Frost.” The sharp click of a pair of shoes approaching her made Raven take a step back.

“I have two patients who are asking for Sister Raven. Most peculiar, I was not aware I had any nurse working at this hospital by the name Raven. Have you any idea who this Sister Raven could be?” The pure confusion and curiosity in Sister Frost’s voice served to be more of a sting than if she’d lashed out. Raven looked up at Sister Frost, a small smile on her lips. Sister Frost’s lips drop in disapproval.

“I am Sister Raven ma’m.” She whispered. Only a shadow of the child who grew up in Westchester. Sister Frost’s eyes narrowed. 

“There is no Sister Raven here. You are Xavier. Only nurse Xavier.” 

“Yes Sister.” Raven could get out before Sister Frost turned her heel. Automatically her hand reached up to the golden necklace. Pulling it out from under her collar. She twisted it back and forth and closed her eyes for a precious moment. There is no Raven. There is not Raven. Only Xavier. She sighed and hoped that maybe, in some other world, her brother would have been proud of her. 

Raven moved slowly through the 20-bed dormitory, taking in jars of cosmetics, overflowing ashtrays and tennis racquets. Despite the working hours, the girls found time to have fun. Raven wasn’t sure what she liked to do for fun anymore. Write perhaps. But certainly not playing tennis. Raven adverted her eyes when she saw a line of nurses behind a wall-mounted telephone. Often crying out for their families. Raven hadn't talked to any other Xavier in four years. 

With the exception of Charles. She’d written him twice. Getting his new address in quite a crude way. She’d felt guilty for bribing the secretary at Halloran hospital. The guilty had faded when weeks passed and she received no letter back. She supposed that silence was Charles’ cruel answer. The women crying for their families, for their mother’s embrace and the laughter of their younger siblings, seemed very dramatic to Raven. Her indifference for their suffering was her own suffering. The irony of her life was a badly written joke, Raven ignored the pang of memories of Father. In truth, she missed her own family more than she could describe. Caught in purgatory, she knew that she couldn’t simply go back. Her mind and her pride, what was left of it, would not allow it. She knew that she hardly could feel sorry for herself. She was the one who’d cut herself off from family ties. The only remainder of her old life was her name.

In the drawer of her bedside locker, she kept a foolscap notebook with marbled cardboard covers. Taped to the spine was a length of string on the end of which was a pencil. It was not permitted to use pen and ink in bed. She began her journal at the end of the first day of preliminary training, and managed at least ten minutes most nights before lights out. Her entries consisted of artistic manifestos, trivial complaints, character sketches and simple accounts of her day which increasingly shaded off into fantasy. She rarely read back over what she had written, but she liked to flip through filled pages. There, behind the name badge and uniform, was her true self, secretly hoarded, quietly accumulating. She had never lost that childhood pleasure in seeing pages covered in her own handwriting. It almost didn’t matter what she wrote. It may be because of her crime or the freight of being caught writing about two male lovers, she changed their names. Charles became a woman with long hair, falling behind a green clad shoulder. Erik, the Manic. He became a Prince once more. She supposed that it was the least she could return to Erik. She was not obligated to write the full truth. Her own character would be stained and ridiculed. 

“Xavier.” For the second time of the day, she was startled. This time by a fellow nurse in training. Nurse MacTaggert was a devoted Catholic, despite her flaw of character, Moria was her only friend. Raven gave her a small smile as Moria joined her in the water tank room. It was after lights out and it was the only time of day Raven could ever find the time to write. Only dressed in her dressing gown, Moria offered her a cigarette. Raven thought back to Charles’ habits and reluctantly accepted.

Moria took in long drags in silence while Raven’s burned out slowly. She glanced at Raven’s notebook and Raven saw curiosity light up in her eyes. Raven refrained from shying away from her gaze.

“What’s that?” It was an easy question, but the answers were too many. Raven took a small drag. The smoke filled there lungs and she couldn’t help a small cough. Suddenly she felt closer to Charles. She shook her head and glanced at Moria, who smiled at her. It didn’t feel like a mockery so Raven answered;

“It’s just a short story.” She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. Raven did shy back this time. Moria didn’t look disappointed.

“ _A letter and two figures_ by Raven Xavier.” She repeated the title of what Raven’d written on the page. Raven clenched her jaw tight and slammed the cover of the notebook. Raven had not anticipated Moria’s sharp eyes in the dark. Moria huffed and shook her head.

“It’s not finished.” Raven lamely explained her aggressive reaction. Moria chuckled.

“There is no point in writing a story if there’s no one to read it.” She said. Raven knew that she was logical. Yet her bottom lip trembled. It wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“What’s it about?” She continued. Raven sighed and leaned back, starring at the closed notebook. She looked up at Moria and blinked serval times to keep her emotions at bay.

“It’s about a stupid, young girl. She sees something and mistakes it as something awfully terrible… I don’t think I’ll finish it.” Raven whispered and hoped that the words would be mistaken as fantasy and not her own naked truth. Moria considered her for a few moments before shrugging.

“Reminds me, I too was young and stupid and committed a foul mistake.” She said, looking at the wall behind her. Raven’s eyes shot up. Desperate for empathy. The cigarette burned between her fingers, only a stub now. Moria glanced at her and smirked.

“I married my husband.” 

_Dear Charles,_

_Before you throw this letter out of the window, you are surely aware that I’m working at Mason Hospital now. I don’t think I will do much good as a nurse, but I’m sure that you will do good as a doctor. I decided against going to Oxford. I want to do good and I hate to be away in England stuck in a lecture hall when I could be saving lives. But no matter how much I work and how much I try to make amends, it’s only now, dear brother, I’m starting to understand what pain I’ve caused. Not only to you, but to our friend. Char, please do write back and we could meet. Your sister, Raven._

Raven often thought of the letter she’d written Charles. She guessed that she would not get a reply, but a small stone had been lifted from her chest nonetheless. In between her shifts and writing sessions, Raven rarely found the time to even step outside the hospital. Her life revolved around work and turn, the war. She tried not to overthink the situation. But sometimes, while walking in the long halls, she would imagine. Paint up the lives the soldiers used to have before being confined to a hospital bed. In her mind she would give them peace and not antibiotics. In her head she’d give them solitude. Sister Frost continued to scold her for talking to the patients in a more personal manner, but she’d stopped referring herself as Raven. There was no place for a girl named Raven in wartime. She hissed as she scrubbed her hands viscously with a brush and baking power. Her hands, cracked and red under the never-ending labour were starting to bleed. Raven lost track of the days, the same tune played over and over again. She walked on relief toward the storage room, finding Moria joining her side in an instant. 

Porters walked in and out, arriving with piles of dirty sheets and leaving with carts filled with boxes. Raven started to unpack and stack kidney bowls and packs of hypodermics. Raven held in a sigh of desperate boredom.

“Your husband? Do you miss him, despite everything?” Raven asked in a small, hushed voice. She heard Moria chuckle beside her. Raven had mostly asked because she didn’t really know how it felt to miss a lover, her story of the two figures had hit a roadblock. She didn’t know how to start the next chapter. Raven glanced at her friend, Moria shook her head.

“No.” Raven furrowed her brow and looked to her right.

“Why not?” She asked, cursing her boldness. Moria stopped and shut one of the cabinets and turned to fully face Raven. She looked at her with disappointment for being nosey. Raven felt she already had stepped over the line, continued.

“You don’t long for his return.” Raven asked, when Moria didn’t answer. Moria shook her head. Raven asked why and Moria sighed deeply. Moria crossed her arms around herself, but it didn’t seem like in need of protection. But rather in exhaustion.

“Xavier, my husband died at Normandy.” Raven stopped and gave her a mortified look.

“That’s terrible!” Was the only condolence she managed to sputter up. Moria smiled secretively and tilted her head. 

“You have never been in love have you?” Raven shook her head and Moria smiled. The smile held all the answers to Raven’s questions, but she didn’t know how to translate into a full sentence. Moria, spurred on by Raven’s boldness, asked another bold question.

“Not even a crush?” She teased. Raven starred at the rows of bandages and let out a heavy sigh. She thought back to the gardens at her home estate. Of summer and easy smiles. A time in-between two wars. A time she’d made sure she could not go back to. 

“It wasn’t a crush… It was childish desperation for confirmation of love. I suppose I imagined him to be some kind of fairytale prince when he saved me.” She whispered. Moria huffed a small laugh.

“Saved you from what?” Raven chucked in spite of herself. She felt melancholic, but a small ray of sunshine warmed the side of her face. Reminding her of climbing up the highest tree in the whole garden. Erik witnessing her from below. She chuckled again, feeling the repercussions of a choice a ten year old girl had committed. She’d flung herself from the top branch, just to see if someone would catch her. Raven grew silent. At ten she had no worries. No care how Charles would scream at her. How Father would confine her to her rooms for weeks. How Mother would simply ignore her days on end. At ten she had thought herself invulnerable to the world.

“Falling.” Moria looked at her with a rancid level of understanding and Raven found that she couldn’t look up from her shoes. They were shiny, black leather shoes. The blood wasn’t noticeable. Raven shook her head again and tried to laugh. It came out as a choked sputter for air.Raven ignored Moria’s sharp eyes and opened the door to the corridor. Even though she hadn’t finished her chores yet. Raven drew in a sharp breath when she looked up from her shoes. Outside there was commotion, doctors, nursers and porters running past, not sparing them a second glance. Raven found her voice, asking Moria what was going on. Illogical question, she would deem it in retrospect, but the shock consumed her faster than logic. 

They shared a look and start running along the river of people. It wasn't until they’d made a sharp left turn that Raven realised that they were on route for the main entrance. Out of breath and heart in her throat they pushed out of the main doors. They saw the field ambulances among the lorries, and coming closer they saw the stretchers, scores of them, set down haphazardly on the ground, and an expanse of dirty green battledress and stained bandages. There were soldiers standing in groups, dazed and immobile, and wrapped like the men on the ground in filthy bandages. A medical orderly was gathering rifles from the back of a lorry. A score of porters, nurses and doctors were moving through the crowd. Five or six carts had been brought out to the front of the hospital, it was clearly not enough. For a moment, Moria and Raven stopped and looked, and then, at the same moment, they began to run again. Seconds later they were among the men. The hash late winter wind didn’t dispel the foul stench of engine oil and rotting wounds. 

The soldiers’ faces and hands were black, and with their stubble and matted black hair, and their tied-on labels from the casualty receiving stations, they looked identical, a wild race of men from a terrible world. The ones who were standing appeared to be asleep. More nurses and doctors were pouring out of the entrance. A consultant was taking charge and a rough triage system was in place. Some of the urgent cases were being lifted onto the trolleys. For the first time in her training, Raven found herself addressed by a doctor, a registrar she had never seen before.

“You, get on the end of this stretcher.”

The doctor himself took the other end. She had never carried a stretcher before and the weight of it surprised her. They were through the entrance and ten yards down the corridor and she knew her left wrist could not hold up. She was at the feet end. The soldier had a sergeant’s stripes. He was without his boots and his bluish toes stank. Each step they took gave him pain. His eyes were shut tight, but he opened and closed his mouth in silent agony. If her left hand failed, the stretcher would certainly tip. Her fingers were loosening as they reached the elevator, stepped inside and set the stretcher down. While they slowly rose, the doctor felt the man’s pulse, and breathed in sharply through his nose. He was oblivious to Raven’s presence. As the second floor sank into their view, she thought only of the thirty yards of corridor to the ward, and whether she would make it. It was her duty to tell the doctor that she couldn’t. But his back was to her as he slammed the lift gates apart, and told her to take her end. She willed more strength to her left arm, and she willed the doctor to go faster. She would not bear the disgrace if she were to fail. The black-faced man opened and closed his mouth in a kind of chewing action. His tongue was covered in white spots. His bruised Adam’s apple rose and fell, and she made herself stare at that. They turned into the ward, and she was lucky that an emergency bed was ready by the door. Her fingers were already slipping. A sister and a qualified nurse were waiting. As the stretcher was manoeuvred into position alongside the bed, Raven’s fingers went slack, she had no control over them, and she brought up her left knee in time to catch the weight. The wooden handle thumped against her leg. The stretcher wobbled, and it was the sister who leaned in to steady it. The wounded sergeant blew through his lips a sound of incredulity, as though he had never guessed that pain could be so vast.

“Christ…” The doctor muttered with disapproval. Raven’s eyes found her shoes once more. They eased the patient onto the bed. Raven pushed herself to the wall, waiting for instructions. The three of them were busy and ignored her.

“Nurse Xavier. Don’t just stand there. All hands are needed downstairs.” She jumped at Sister Frost’s voice and found her shoes once more. She ran down humiliated. A sinking sensation spreading in her stomach. From the first day she’d witness the war, first moment she’d come to face with the true consequences of it, she’d failed. If she had to carry another stretcher, she would not make to to the elevator. But she didn’t have to courage to refuse. When Raven emerged once more from the main doors, she was out of breath. She saw with relief that the last stretchers were being carried by the porters onto extra carts. A dozen qualified nurses were standing to one side with their suitcases. She recognised some from her own ward. There was no time to ask them where they were being sent. Something even worse was happening elsewhere. The priority now was the walking wounded. There were still more than two hundred of them. She was filled with relief once again when she saw a familiar face. Moria joined her side and Raven helped her push the trolly filled with bandages over the frozen ground. In a hushed voice Moria started to explain whats she’d heard from a qualified nurse in the south ward. The men arrived at the upper New York bay. Hundreds and hundreds of men from evacuation hospitals behind the front lines in Europe. They all had disbanded to different hospitals in New York. Raven felt sick to her stomach, knowing that Charles too would see the consequences of the war and that Charles would abhor it.

Raven abhorred it too when she saw the soldiers mill around each other without any purpose. Raven felt her breath quickening when more ambulances arrived. Raven touched her neck and twisted the locket. Hoping that she could find her breath again. Moria and Raven parted ways, busying themselves for what their training was supposed to prepare them for. Raven wasn't so sure that she made sufficient work. But she re-fitted bandages and cleaned bed pans to the best of her ability.

Sometimes, when a soldier Raven was looking after was in great pain, she was touched by an impersonal tenderness that detached her from the suffering, so that she was able to do her work efficiently and without horror. That was when she saw what nursing might be, and she longed to qualify, to have that badge. She could imagine how she might abandon her ambitions of writing and dedicate her life in return for these moments of elated, generalised love.

Towards three thirty in the morning, she was told to go and see Sister Frost. She was on her own, making up a bed. Earlier, Raven had seen her in the sluice room. She seemed to be everywhere, doing jobs at every level. Automatically, Raven began to help her.

“See that man? Bed 19, sit down, talk to him.” Sister Frost ordered without looking up. Raven stopped, feeling offended.

“I’m not tired, Sister.” She defended. 

“Do as you are told, Xavier.” Sister Frost said, not sparing her a glance. Raven sucked in her bottom lip and nodded, her hand just touching her golden chain.

“Of course, Sister.” The man looked to be a boy. Young and terribly pale. But when she reviewed his chart, Raven realised that he twenty seven, war seemed to reduce even the bravest of people to children once more. He was sitting, propped up on several pillows and watched the commotion surrounding him in a childlike awe. It was hard to imagine a man like that, vulnerable like that, to be caught in a war of the world. He had a strong face, dark brows and bright blue eyes. Raven breathed in sharply, feeling ridiculous for seeing her own brother there for a second. She knew that if Charles would do something as stupid as enlist, he would have the curtesy to write about his death sentence. Even to her. The solider, as the chart informed, was infected with tuberculosis. After just glancing at the lines constituting his life, Raven knew that the solider would not make through the night. His small coughs echoing throughout the ward. Raven smiled a little, trying to be reassuring and set down the chart. Pulling up a chair next to his bed. His face was pale and his eyes were unhealthily radiant. He smiled when she sat down, as if he’d expected her. 

“Hey there.” His accent had a slight musical twang to it. Raven recognised it as Brooklyn. Raven smiled at the comfort that he would have seen home before passing. His hand was greasy and cold against hers, but she held him tighter.

“Hello.” She smiled.

“They tell me I can’t smoke no more.” He said and glanced at one of the nurses, almost petulantly. Raven raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

“They are not good for you.” She said softly. She hoped her breath didn’t reek of Moria’s cigarettes anymore. They had shared on one to ease out the nerves only an hour ago. Both of them only running on fumes. He smiled lopsidedly, she didn’t know if it was the morphine or not.

“Steve hates ‘em. The smoke ain’t good for his lungs.” Raven nodded and tried to give him a playful look.

“Smoke ain’t good for anyone’s lungs.” She said quietly, she didn’t know why she replied in the low Brooklyn accent, perhaps to make him feel more at home. There was such friendliness and charm in his eyes that she couldn’t to help to continue the conversation. 

“I might be able to find a snipe for you, if you behave.” Raven murmured. His eyes lit up.

“Thank you ma’m. A real dame you are.” Raven couldn’t help the redness spreading up her neck. He starred at her for a moment and then frowned.

“Forgive me, my memory ain’t what it used to be. What is your name again?” He looked apologetic. Raven didn’t mention that she hadn’t introduced herself, she only replied that she was nurse Xavier. He nodded and smiled. Raven supposed that once it might have been considered charming.

“Barnes. Sergeant James Barnes.” He looked away from her and gazed at the ward. Turing his head slowly and then closed his eyes. He began to ramble, speaking softly under his breath. It was so quiet that Raven couldn’t catch any of the words. Then he opened his eyes again and gave her a confused look.

“We should to get out quick though, Steve hates hospitals, you know.” He murmured. Raven frowned a little. His voice had turned urgent suddenly. Raven nodded slowly. Steve must be a brother. Raven knew how much someone could long for a brother. 

“Of course. I know he does.” Raven replied. James Barnes smiled and nodded, closing his eyes again. For a moment she thought that he might have fallen asleep. Sitting for the rest time in hours, she felt her own fatigue creeping at the corners. Then he was looking at her again, with the same slow, blinking eyes. He didn't seem to notice that several minutes had passed.

“You are every kind. Coming to see me.” He continued where the conversation had left off. Raven smiled good naturally. He considered her for a moment and then gave her a secretive smile.

“Do you remember when we first met? Steve was bent for days because he didn’t got a dance with ya.” His words were slurred and it was an effort to understand him. Raven tried to smile and only nodded. Barnes sighed and looked past her. 

“I danced with your friend. The one from the upper side. A real doll, but it ain’t fair that I got to dance and he didn’t. Real malarkey that… Sorry, I know that most gals don’t like Stevie.” He continued quietly. Raven had to lean in a little to hear him. He glanced at her and swung her hand from side to side, as though trying to stir up her memory. His bright eyes scanned her face in anticipation. It was wrong to lead him on, she thought.

“I just don’t like dancing.” Raven said instead, not lying. James chuckled, coughing. It sounded the same. As if water was trapped in his lungs. Raven winced at the sound. Raven cleared her throat, twisting her necklace with her free hand. She pushed the chair forward. 

“James-“

“Bucky. It’s Bucky, even for a dame who don’t like dancin’” Raven bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

“Bucky,” She amended,”I want to tell you that Steve isn’t here…” She started in a soothing voice. Trying to look kind, despite that her intentions were anything but.

“I guess your friend didn’t appreciate going out with another couple. But I thought it was an ace idea… He calls me stupid, y’know…” He trailed off, not noticing that he had. He starred off into the ward. Raven swallowed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, how about that?” She asked with a smile. She knew that James’ bed would be replaced with another solider by the morrow. She didn’t have the heart to even insinuate it. James raised his eyebrows and smiled. It was a small smug smile.

“I gotta tell ya, Xavier. A secret.” Raven clenched her jaw. She had never been good at those. James continued.

“Steve was bent on me ‘cause I didn’t dance with him.” He chuckled again. James didn’t take any notice of his blood stained lips. Raven gave him a small, hesitant smile. Not sure what James meant.

“I’m sure he wasn’t that angry with you.” She murmured. James watched her as she dabbed a napkin over his lips. Raven didn't feel like a flirt, most girls might have been embarrassed. But she didn’t see a regular fella, she saw a young, sick boy. James made a sound of disagreement. Only then did it occur to her what a foolish and unprofessional thing she had done. James sat quietly, waiting for her. She glanced down the ward. No one was paying attention. He followed her gaze, she took his hand again. James was rambling again. 

“I promised I would come home y’know? Smoke free 'n all… Gotta keep 'em snipes away… Ain’t personal… Stop doing stupid things while I’m gone, punk…” Raven imagined that James thought he spoke in full sentences. The words came in a torrent, and she couldn’t keep up. She caught small references to a speakeasy in Bushwick. A strict teacher and art. It all mixed together into a unreadable collage. Like someone had glued news clippings into one single page. She wiped his forehead with a damp towel. He was quiet once more. When he opened his eyes, he resumed their one sided conversation, unknowing of the interlude. 

“Where’s Steve?” He frowned and looked at her with an accusing eye. Raven then knew why she was sitting next to him and wasn’t on her feet.

“He’s on his way…” She said without hesitation. James sighed and looked satisfied. Raven had no idea who Steve was or where he was. She was certain that Steve had no idea that James Barnes was back in New York. But she wanted to give James some kind of solace, even if it had to be a lie.

“Good… He hates hospitals. But he’ll come for me…” He said with confidence. Raven, ridden with guilt, smiled in spite herself. When he spoke again, there was a grating sound at the back of his throat which they both ignored.

“He tried to enlist… Stupid punk…” He rasped out.

“He’s home worrying, like a house-wife…” He chuckled again and then it turned into horrid coughs. After a minute he continued stubbornly. Raven wanted to tell him that he had to save his energy, until Steve came. She didn’t. She tightened her grip around his hand. His eyes left hers and he sighed. Raven had seen her brother cry once. She rarely saw men cry. When James Barnes started to weep, she didn’t know what to do with herself. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes and cried into it, trapping his cry from escaping his mouth.

“I promised to come back. I promised to do nothin’ stupid.” He weeped into his hand. Raven tried to comfort him with a squeeze. He didn’t acknowledge it. He cried. She held onto him. None of them spoke.

“I gotta tell ya, Xavier. A secret.” Raven wasn’t sure if James had turned back time. The repetition of his sentence was startling. She nodded slowly. His voice wasn’t playful this time. It was quiet and sad. Raven had never been faced with such grief in a man in a very long time.

“I love him…” He admitted. Realisation hit her. She’d seen that kind of devotion in men before. In her brother. And suddenly she wanted to weep with James. He had admitted a kind of impossible love that wasn't shared between two brothers. On some level James must have realised that he had nothing to lose, he’d admitted it in front of a stranger. He smiled sadly at her. His hand reached out and Raven tried not to recoil. With feather fingers, he touched a blonde curl.

“You got the same hair as him.” He observed. The grating sound from deep in his throat of his breathing resounded in her ears. Raven tried to smile.

“It’s Raven.” She said quietly. His eyes had a wide open look of astonishment and his waxy skin gleamed in the harsh light. He repeated her name under his breath. Raven squeezed him tighter.

“Tell him. Okay?” Like an electric current had passed him, he jerked up from the bed. Both hands grasping hers. The urgency in his eyes was painful to stand witness to. Raven nodded mutely.

“Tell him I'm coming back home. Promise me Raven.” Hearing her name on the lips of a stranger made her nod again. James starred at her and leaned back. He started to mutter again. Raven couldn’t hear it anymore, she didn't want to. She held on to him. She didn’t know how much time passed, she thought of her own brother and of Erik.

“Nurse Xavier.” Sister Frost pulled at her elbow and helped her to her feet. Sister Frost didn’t look at her with disapproval, it was something akin to understanding in her eyes. Raven gave her a silent nod. After a minute they turned to the bed. Where a man once lied. In his place was a body. Sister Frost said nothing as she drew the sheet over James Barnes’ face. Raven didn’t weep. She didn’t feel she had any right to feel sorry for James and Steve. Or Erik and Charles. 

At five thirty in the morning the probationers were sent to their lodgings to sleep, and told to report back at eleven. Raven walked with Moria. Neither girl spoke, and when they linked arms it seemed they were resuming, after a lifetime of experience, their walk back to their dormitories was a gloom one. 

If Raven still was age thirteen and her head wasn’t filled up with realties and war, she might have chosen ‘Brave’ as an adjective to describe herself. She was not thirteen anymore, so when Moria commented her supposed bravery as if it would be a compliment, Raven could say nothing in return. The weeks had passed and she was no longer frozen to the bone every night when she would write in the water tank room at night. As time passed and the war dredged on, Raven had found a new more profound understanding of what ‘tired’ meant. The days grew longer, eight to ten hours of work and thirty minute breaks for meals, if she was lucky. It was monotonous work, she tried to detach herself from the war. As if the soldiers and her were playing a game, a tragic play perhaps. Despite her farce of faux bravery she’d put up, as she’d explained to Moria, she still remembered Sergeant James Barnes. His thick Brooklyn accent and sad eyes that reminded her of Charles. She hadn't allowed herself to care so personally for another patient again. Sister Frost had designated her as the careful watcher when it was time for a solider to pass, a last act of kindness. Raven was not sure if she was insulted that Sister Frost saw her so empathetic. 

Fresh cases arrived each day, but no longer in a deluge. The system was taking hold, and there was a bed for everyone. The surgical cases were prepared for the basement operating theatres. Afterwards, most patients were sent off to outlying hospitals to convalesce. The turnover among the dead was high, and for the probationers there was no drama now, only routine: the screens drawn round the padre’s bedside murmur, the sheet pulled up, the porters called, the bed stripped and remade. How quickly the dead faded into each other, so that Sergeant Barnes’ face became Private Lowell’s, and both exchanged their fatal wounds with those of other men whose names they could no longer recall.

After the occupation of Holland, the propaganda blared constantly in her ears. Telling her, insisting that the war was soon to be over. For all the incentives and tries to pacify an entire nation, people were scared. Raven, included. The war had truly stretched over the entire world, the blood sipped through the cracks of the earth all the way from France to Japan. In Africa, she’d been told, American lives were lost everyday. Her work still felt insignificant. 

Sister Frost had stopped terrorising them, one silver lining. Now when they’d been blooded, she didn’t see a need to look down upon them like school girls. Her tone was cool, professional and completely neutral. Never in Raven’s life she’d been so flattered by indifference. After months of training and close to penniless-work, Raven had earned one day off. A Sunday, she decided. most assumed that she would make her way to Trinity Church. Even as a child she’d regarded the bible as a work of fiction and God a poorly written character. She never said so out-loud, most of the girls were Christian, and prayed everyday that the war would end. Raven wished she too could believe. If only it was so simple.

She has eaten noting, and her that was dry as sand. Her feet throbbed and her stomach ached. She would arrive soon. Her mind wandered to simpler things. Sergeant Barnes was a ever present subject. She knew it was irrational to feel guilt from an empty promise made to a dying man. That night in late January, she had not dared to ask for the next of kin of the solider. Fear in her mind when Sister Frost had approached her. So, she didn’t ask for who Steve was, the secret lover of a man that reminded her of her brother. She wondered if Steve was like Erik, a smart man who was misunderstood by the entire world. A part of her wanted to find James Barnes’ Steven, to know more about a man who died too young. But then, so many more had before him. The street she was looking for was two turns past the train station. Tall, imposing, brick houses reached for the sky all along the street. She told herself that she needed to be thirteen again, brave and hopelessly stupid. To be the girl who jumped out of a tree without a care for harming herself. When she mustered enough promoting memories, the doorbell did not ring. So she knocked after a second of consideration. When she heard the thud of footsteps, she was nineteen again and she took step back. She pulled at her golden chain, afraid that it might break with the force she was pulling, or might strangle her. When the door finally did open, Raven’s eyes were on her black shoes again. 

“Oh.” Raven expected a door to be slammed in her face. Or even be pushed down the three steps leading up to the door. When neither happened, she dared to look up. He was older. In her mind, she thought it was ridiculous. Of course Charles would be older. Almost six years had passed. Yet she’d imagined a young man with a face of a boy, open eyes and kind smiles. He wore a simple white shirt, rolled up to his elbows, it looked too small. And almost comedically, bright, blue socks. Charles turned into the apartment, leaving the door open. Raven hesitated before she carefully stepped after him. Silently following.

“You came without telling me.” He said, his voice was still ridden with an English tint, but his words were not kind. They had the same kind of professional neutrality as Sister Frost's. 

“I didn’t get a letter in return, so I came instead.” Charles said nothing in return. He lead her into a small room that functioned as a kitchen and living room. Charles had not acquired the skill of cleaning up. On a small table was an overflowing ashtray, thick volumes and dirty plates. Charles sat down in one of the two chairs, he didn’t offer her a seat, she hand’t expected him to. Everything in the apartment was old and cheap. It was a stark contrast from their home. Charles pulled at his sleeves and patted his pockets, probably in the hope of a cigarette. He was much darker in complexion. He lit a cigarette and didn’t offer one to her. She stood still by the entrance. His cheekbones was defined by a light scruff, a painful reminder of Father. Raven found her neck and the golden chain. She moved the locket over the delicate chain slowly. Charles blew smoke intothe open window. 

“You’re a nurse.” He stated drily. She nodded. But then verbally confirmed when she found that Charles wasn’t looking at her. Charles hummed and made time to finish his snipe. Even though Charles had the rumpled look of someone who’d just gotten out of bed, he was more handsome than she’d remembered. His young, boyish face always looked odd. Now he was more refined among cheap furniture, a slight downturn at his lip, a permanent disappointment in his face. There was something mask-like about it. He was still and silent and was completely comfortable with it. Raven was not fine with the silence. She wanted to say something, anything, but she realised that she didn’t know her brother anymore. Just like he didn’t know her anymore.

“I know that you are angry, Char, but-“

“Don’t you dare.” His first hint of true emotion was of fire fury. His eyes were still on the window, his voice was a quiet, hissing voice. Raven recoiled slightly. 

“Don’t call me that.” He resumed in a neutral voice. He was too hard to read. Raven didn’t know what to do with herself.

“I want to tell them the truth. If not the court then our family.” Raven said with a steady voice. Charles stumped the cigarette in the ashtray and looked up at her. His bright blue eyes peaking under a curtain of matted brown hair. Raven swallowed.

“Even if you got in front of a judge in times like these, there’s no new evidence. You’ll just be a unreliable witness.” Charles said in a low voice. Avoiding the mention of family. Raven suddenly didn’t know why she was there, to apologise, to amend or even just to see a glimpse of her beloved brother.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Raven said quietly. It felt odd to feel so small under her brother’s gaze. She’d always considered them to be equal growing up. 

“Don’t worry Raven,” the use of her name was sardonic. Raven clenched her jaw, Charles reached for another cigarette,”I will never forgive you.” He said in a conversing tone. As if they were making trivial small-talk.

“Why are you here?” Charles pressed. She supposed that he had the same idea of as to why as Raven did. Feeling awfully stupid, Raven sighed.

“I wanted to see you.” Was her pathetic reply.

“To apologise, even if you will not accept it.” She wasn’t sure if Charles had heard her until she heard a small, condescending laugh. Raven realised how frightened she was of Charles. Her derision was harder to face than anger. Raven looked away, down at her feet, it was not easy to gaze right into that beautiful mask. At a sound, she jumped. The bedroom door opened and Erik stood there. Raven couldn’t find the air. He wore a pressed service uniform, the green shirt open, a white bandage peaking out. He was clean shaved and his gaze was only on Charles. Her brother turned to face him, he didn’t approach him, but there was a smile. A smile that reminded her of summer. The mask had been removed and Raven nearly toppled over with the wave of pure sorrow that consumed her. In the silence of silence, which they only watch each other, they shared a cigarette. Raven, already feeling like she was imposing, wanted to flee. She had not even once considered that Erik might be on leave. And if he was, that he would be with Charles. Erik spoke quietly, as if they were alone. She almost missed the nod Erik gave her as he passed her and walked into the bedroom once more. Charles spoke up, as if they were siblings again, “He finally sleeps again. I didn’t want to wake him.” He said softly. His candid truth served to be more of a hit. 

“I thought it be better if you didn’t meet.” He added, eyes on the window. Raven’s knees trembled. Supporting her on the doorframe, she hoped that she wouldn’t fall. Charles moved with grace in the small space, putting a kettle on. Raven thought it had been illogical to assume that Erik was dead. She’d only thought of him in the question of what if? It felt stupid to assume that he’d died in the trenches now when she’d seen him once more. Charles turned the stove on and she assumed he was making late breakfast. He promptly ignored her presence and Raven didn't know if she could ask for a glass of water.

Raven was startled again when soft music started to play from the bedroom. She didn’t ask about the nature of their relationship, she wanted to. But she knew that Charles felt safe with the secret. Ironically, Raven was probably the only one safe to discuss their romantic endeavours with. The music got louder when the door opened again. Erik was whistling along to the tune, Raven pushed into the corner of the room. She stopped breathing when Erik glanced at her. Half across the room, Erik stopped and looked her up and down. 

“So… I didn’t recognise you.” He said finally. Charles came by his side, touching Erik’s hand briefly. However intimidated, she couldn’t look away. She smelled his shaving soap and it was too a shock to see how much older he was. Especially his eyes. Did everything have to be her fault? Couldn’t it be the war? 

“Why is she here?” He mumbled to Charles. 

“To apologise.” Erik turned a raised eyebrow at her. Scorn filled his eyes. Her first concern was not to cry, nothing would have been more humiliating. Relief, shame, self-pity, perhaps all of it, rose up her throat. The chain tightened around her neck, like a noose. 

“If we’re going to talk we should sit down.” Charles said quietly, already taking a seat.

“I don’t know that I can.” He moved away impatiently to the adjacent wall, a distance of seven feet or so, and leaned against it, arms crossed, looking from Raven to Charles. Almost immediately he moved again, down the room to the bedroom door where he turned to come back, changed his mind and stood there, hands in pockets. He was a large man, and the room seemed to have shrunk. In the confined space he was desperate in his movements, as though suffocating. He took his hands from his pockets and smoothed the hair at the back of his neck. Then he rested his hands on his hips. Then he let them drop. It took all this time, all this movement, for Raven to realise that he was angry, very angry.

“We ought to make this quick. Erik is shipping out for Burma in the morrow.” Charles mentioned, he gestured to Erik. Erik walked up to Charles, silently pulling out paper and rolling tobacco. It was endearing to see two people so in sync. If only she’d not almost destroyed it.

“Darling, calm your mind.” Charles whispered when Erik had muttered something under his breath. Erik was quiet and lit Charles’ cigarette.

“Why did you let her through the door?” Then he turned to Raven.

“I’m torn between breaking your neck clean or taking you outside and put a bullet in your head.” If it had not been for her recent experience, she would have been terrified. Sometimes she heard soldiers on the ward raging against their helplessness. At the height of their passion, it was foolish to reason with them or try to reassure them. It had to come out, and it was best to stand and listen. She knew that even offering to leave now could be provocative. So she faced Erik and waited for the rest, her due. But she was not frightened of him, not physically.

He did not raise his voice, though it was straining with contempt. 

“Have you any idea at all what it’s like inside?”She imagined small high windows in a cliff face of brick, and thought perhaps she did, the way people imagined the different torments of hell. She shook her head faintly.

“No, of course you don’t. And when I was inside, did it please you?”

“No.”

“But you did nothing.”

“Do you think I raped your cousin?”

“No.”

“Do you think that I wanted to sodomise your brother?”

“No.”

“Did you then?” Raven stumbled. Erik looked almost triumphant.

“Yes, no. I wasn’t sure. Now I know that you didn’t. Don’t.” She rambled. 

“Why are you so sure now?”

“I grew up.” She whispered. Erik starred at her, lips parted. He really had changed in five years. The hardness in his gaze was new, and the eyes were smaller and narrower, and in the corners were the firm prints of crows’ feet. His face was thinner than she remembered, the cheeks were sunken.

“You grew up.” He echoed. When he raised his voice, Raven jumped.

“You’re nineteen! How old do you have to be to realise what consequences are? Do you have to be nineteen to realise the difference between right and wrong. There’s men, younger than you who die. Every day, they die like flies. Did you know that?”

“Yes.” It was a pathetic source of comfort, that he could not know what she had seen. Strange, that for all her guilt, she should feel the need to withstand him. It was that, or be annihilated.

She barely nodded. She did not dare speak. At the mention of dying, a surge of feeling had engulfed him, pushing him beyond anger into an extremity of bewilderment and disgust. His breathing was irregular and heavy, he clenched and unclenched his right fist. And still he stared at her, into her, with a rigidity, a savagery in his look. His eyes were bright, and he swallowed hard several times. The muscles in his throat tensed and knotted. He too was fighting off an emotion he did not want witnessed. She had learned the little she knew, the tiny, next-to-nothing scraps that came the way of a trainee nurse, in the safety of the ward and the bedside. She knew enough to recognise that memories were crowding in, and there was nothing he could do. They wouldn’t let him speak. She would never know what scenes were driving this turmoil.

“Six years ago, you had no regard for the truth. Do you have any idea what they do to people with a sentence like mine in prison?”

“No.”

“Thanks to you, I was thrown to the wolves. I might show you if you like. I daresay it’s not as romantic as your novels. But it’s all in the same in the end.” He took a step towards her and she shrank back, no longer certain of his harmlessness – if he couldn’t talk, he might have to act. Another step, and he could have reached her with his sinewy arm. But Charles slid between them. With her back to Raven, he faced Erik and placed his hands on his shoulders. Erik turned his face away from him.

“Look at me,” he murmured. “Erik. Look at me.” The reply he made was lost to Raven. She heard his dissent or denial. Perhaps it was an obscenity. As Charles gripped him tighter, Erik twisted his whole body away from him, and they seemed like wrestlers as Charles reached up and tried to turn his head towards him. But his face was tilted back, his lips retracted and teeth bared in a ghoulish parody of a smile. Now with two hands Charles was gripping his cheeks tightly, and with an effort he turned his face and drew it towards his own. At last he was looking into Charles’ eyes, but still he kept his grip on Erik’s cheeks. He pulled him closer, drawing him into his gaze, until their faces met and Charles kissed him lightly, lingeringly on the lips. 

“Calm your mind… Erik, calm your mind. Find the line.” He nodded faintly and breathed out slowly. In the silence the room seemed smaller. Charles withdrew his hands and Erik put his arms around him. A sustained, deep, private kiss. Raven looked down.

“Mr. Shaw, he’s the one I saw that night.” Raven breathed out slowly. She’d expected either of the two to approach her and strike her. Her admission of the truth was cruel, but it needed it to be said. Both of them were silent. Charles hesitantly sat down again, Erik following his suit. They shared a look and Raven jumped when they both chuckled together. Like the truth was a harmless joke.

“Of course it was. I never liked him.” Charles commented causally. Erik hummed in agreement. Erik busied himself by rolling another cigarette while Charles drank tea. Raven felt even more confused by the turn of events. It was like Erik’s tantrum had never happened.

“I heard he’s working with Howard Stark on new weapons technology. Good for him.” Erik said and lit a cigarette. Raven frowned at the scene. Nothing had turned out as she’d written out in her head. But then, she’d produced several drafts of the endless possibilities the meeting could have ended with.

“And your cousin? Kurt?” Raven didn’t know if Erik’s question was directed to her or Charles. Erik passed the cigarette to Charles who accepted it with a wry smile.

“Fled to Birmingham last I heard.” Erik nodded and added nothing. The conversation dwindled to nothing and they shared a cigarette in silence. In that moment Raven realised that both of them had given up on seeking justice for her crime. She didn’t feel relived. She knew that both of them had saddled her with the guilt of Erik’s sentence. She should be grateful that that would be the end of it. 

“If I kill him, will you be cross with me?” Raven’s eyes darted up from her shoes and up at Erik. He smiled playfully at Charles and Raven felt sick when Charles chuckled. Gone was the boy who’d refused to accept death and suffering despite his love for science. Dark humour filled his eyes and for a moment she didn’t know what happened to her brother. Naive was not longer an adjective she could use to describe him with.

“Which one of them?”

“Does it matter? Why not both?” Charles tilted his head and considered Erik for a moment. Yet again Raven felt like she was an imposer on a private conversation. She supposed that her presence didn’t matter. Not in this conversation. Not in their lives. 

“I will be terribly cross with you. Especially if you get caught.” Charles muttered and flicked ash into the open window. Erik nodded and sighed.

“I want to.” He whispered.

“I know you do, love. I know.” Charles replied in a soft voice. Something akin to a mother soothing a child. For a moment she wondered if they had considered starting a family, to replace Raven’s treacherous one. 

“But you will not.” Charles said, his eyes stern and voice absolute. Erik was silent for a few seconds. 

“I will not.” He said under his breath. Erik and Charles had always been close. As a child she’d only seen it was brotherly affection. But they’d fostered an indisputable dependence of each other. It was obvious now. How Erik sought out for Charles’ approval. How Charles’ eyes lingered on him. It was a kind of love that had never been witnessed by Raven between Father and Mother. In a way, she was jealous, she knew she could live out her entire life and never find that kind of mutual affection for another person. If she believed in God, she’d might think that was her punishment.

“You will write Father, explain what happened. In truth. No unnecessary adjectives or flowery language. This isn't a song or a poem. You will leave out nothing, do you understand?” Raven nodded, a little shocked at Charles’ harsh tone. She wondered if Father will despise her. Father had loved Erik like a second son. Father would find out that she was the source of Charles’ indifference. 

“When we leave, after the war to England, you will say nothing. You will write us no more. No one will know where we are.” Erik said, his eyes on Charles. From where Raven was standing, she couldn’t see Erik’s face. She could see the softness in Charles’ face.

“I understand.” Raven said when neither of them looked at her. Taking a breath and pulling at the necklace she spoke up with a little more force.

“I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. I know that you’ll never forgive me, but I am sorry.” Both of them turned their faces at the same time, Raven held her gaze. Charles looked at her and for a second she believed that Charles might give her hope for atoning for her crime. But he looked at Erik again, whose eyes were still on her.

“Just do as we said and leave us be.” Raven nodded and couldn’t meet their eyes anymore. Her bravery gone.

“I promise.” Raven whispered to her shoes. Feeling that there was nothing more to be said, Raven left. Saying goodbye or trying to apologise again felt trite. She had her say and she felt a little bit content. Knowing that Charles had another person to discuss biology and debates with. If it wouldn’t be her, she was glad it was Erik.

On her way back to the dormitories she was surprised of just how content she felt. And how sad she felt. She couldn’t be disappointed. She hadn’t expected to be forgiven. No matter how sorry and pitiful she felt. It was more of homesickness. She'd abandoned home long ago, but the place where she felt at home, Charles, was a place she now knew, for certain she couldn’t go back to. The love between Charles and Erik was something Raven could never find again. Neither Raven or the war had destroyed it. That was the only thing that soothed her guilty conscience. How Charles had drawn Erik in, with only his eyes and words in his arsenal. No morphine or medial sedative had been needed to bring Erik back from the front lines. Charles would speak to her like that sometimes when she was a young child. Who still believed that nightmares were real and nota creation of her own mind. When Mother wasn’t an option to find serenity. Charles had said those words, _Calm your mind. It was only a bad dream, Raven. Calm your mind._ How easily those words had become sensual and terribly romantic when spoken to Erik. She knew what was required by her. Write. Not simply a letter to Father. A new draft of 'A letter and two figures’, an atonement, an end. Absolution. 


End file.
